My Iraq
by Kerschi-Puky
Summary: Ryan is living with the Cohens for a few months now, but can't find his way into their family. All struggle to make him a family member, but tragidies come by for visits.
1. Insomnia

**A/N.: **So guys, here's a sequel to 'wind of change'. And yes, I was faster with finishing my assignment, as planed. For all those who don't want to read that story first I give a brief summery of events you might need to know.

**What happened previously:** Ryan donated his blood to Seth and thus got to know the Cohens. Kirsten didn't like him, but later started to melt down more and more, until she's the motor letting him stay permanently. Ryan's mother died after a routine surgery, his brother got shot from a ploice officer in front of his eyes. He ended up in juvies and in a foster home ( not too bad) and then came to the Cohens, his foster family. And yes, he and Marissa are a couple.

**Legal side:** The law of my home country is taken as basis for the description for the dutys of foster familys. Sorry, if it differs from the law in your country. But I'm looking forward to get to know how things work in other countries.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights related to the original plot or the character of the O.C. I only own this one.

Now, enough explanations. Have fun and enjoy and of course let me know what you think about this.

* * *

_**Insomnia**_

**I** watch him sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen. His eyes are sad and the circles around them show me he still doesn't sleep properly. He didn't since he came to us. I see something is bothering him, but he won't tell me. He's hardly talking to my husband. He's not mute. Small talk is okay. But serious conversations – those who could be help and relieve for all of us – are barley happening. It's not that I want to know what it is, I already do. I only want him to say these words that bring relieve. But I also know that his demons demand him to keep everything deep inside. I start to doubt it had been the right decision to take him in. It's obvious it doesn't do him any good. But I also doubt his life in this institution had been better than here. What's my biggest concern is the fact that I start to feel we already lost the fight -the fight for a second son and I start to lose energy. I don't want to blame him for that. He hadn't forced us to this decision. But he could be a little more cooperative. On the other hand, I know what had happened in his past. I should know that this is no easy situation for him. He never had trusted someone – even relied on. This is a learning process and I start to think of the small steps he had already made. He had stopped drinking when he was upset. He still likes fights too much and sometimes I smell he had been smoking. I don't reprove him then, as I know he never would smoke in our presence. That's it. He respects us and he tries to stick to the rules, like a guest. He can't imagine that this isn't enough for me or my husband. He can't imagine our desire for him being our second son. And I can't blame him. Thus I try to encourage myself from new. I watch Seth talking to him and him listening carefully, trying to give advices. Their relationship is a very good one. It seems as if Seth knows how to handle him, without pushing him too hard or annoying him. I watch the scene and put up my mask of happy mother, not showing my concerns to the boys – especially not to him. He would feel embarrassed if he knew.

"Hey, good morning!" My husband storms into the kitchen. Sometimes I ask myself whether he's reluctant to recognize the conflict in our family. But I know too well, he does know. And he's trying his best, at least that's what he's telling me day after day.

"Ryan, you look tired. Everything's okay?" He asks. It's strange. When I ask questions he never ducks his head. With my husband it's different. I thought after all what had happened between us, he should act easier around my husband, but that's not true. Out of some mysterious reasons it seems as if he's easier around me than him.

"I'm fine, thanks." I feel how rage crawls up my spine, making my want to smash my mug against the fridge. This was a lie. He knew it, I do, my husband does and my …son does as well. I want to grab him by his arms, shake him until he starts to burst into tears – he has all reasons to. But he covers his cracks with politeness or aggression. Something between these characteristics doesn't exist.

"Everything's okay at school?" My husband asks on.

"Yes, everything's fine." Was this a lie? I have no idea. I only see my son's face and know they both have a secret. But this is normal. I used to have my secrets with my sister, some my parents still don't know about. Parents. And what are we for him? Something between parents and watchdog.

"Okay, it's time to go. I need to see Summer, after she's been away the whole weekend." My son says out of a sudden and in less than a second both are gone. I let a sigh escape my chest.

"He's far away from okay, is he?" I ask my husband, whose face had darkened in the second the boys left.

"That's my assumption." He only answers. This isn't enough. I want reasons, because reasons give you something to start with. If I had reasons, I already knew how to solve this conflict.

"Sandy it can't go on like this. He's not sleeping, he's hardly talking and I can't consider this as eating." I point at the not even half eaten bowl of cereals.

"It was just a lot that happened. He only needs time." Time. We have no time. With every passing day the boy is drifting further apart from us – drawing back into his shell of loneliness.

"Sandy, it's time he starts to recover from it."

"I know. I talk to him this evening." Again. And there is this tired look. There are a lot Sandy-Ryan-conversations. Either ending with an only yes and all admitting Ryan or ending in a fight, with a Ryan coming home late night – bruised or smelling after smoke, sometimes both. I'm glad that he quit drinking, though.

I work part-time now, if it's possible. I figured I need to stay home more. My own son had admitted he felt like a toy and – although it might be late – I wanted to show him he was more and that I took him serious. And Ryan needs someone who is always around, knowing that there is always someone there for him. I'm not sure if this works that way, maybe it only keeps him away from doing anything stupid. I hear the front door open. My son is coming home, alone.

"Hey Seth, how was school?" I ask him.

"Boring, despite the breaks." He answers. I don't want to smother both of them. But I have to.

"Uhm…Seth, where is Ryan?"

"Still at school."

"What is he doing there?" A curious feeling develops in my stomach and I don't know what this is supposed to mean.

"Learning. He said something about being more concentrated if he stays in the library." I know he's ambitious. But like that? This is new to me.

"And this everyday of the week?" I admit my question seems to come late. But if I had asked earlier it might have seemed as if I want to control them and this could become a hairy situation. That's why I waited so long.

"Uh…yes. I know it's weird, but I'm not able to convince him from studying here. Don't know what's wrong." And this is what I don't buy from him. He knows where the cat jumps, but doesn't tell me.

"Seth, are you sure that this is no measure of avoiding us?" This is my biggest fear, that he never realizes that we only want to be his parents. I fear he might turn away from us, never letting us closer than he does now.

"Dunno, but I don't think so. If he wanted to avoid you, he probably would run." And that's the other thing that's not right. He's on probation and he's smart enough to not to want be back in juvies again. So he stays with us. Everything else would bring him back to juvies and he knows that.

"Okay, I talk to him later." I say, trying to get something out of my son, but I fail. Maybe there's really nothing. But I have a suspicious feeling and I can't switch it off easily.

It's already time for dinner, when he comes back. He usually comes back that late.

"Hey, nice to see you." My husband says when he enters the kitchen.

"Hi." He replies shy. He still has no idea how to react on some kind-hearted words.

"How was school?" I ask him too. He's my son two and I need to treat both the same.

"Uh…fine…a lot of work." He says until he apologizes and heads for the pool house. I look at my husband and I see in his face what I'm feeling. My husband takes the opportunity and walks after him. A new round of conversation. I take the time and set the table. I'm still wondering how strange this must be for Ryan. Few years ago he had to steal something to eat and now everything was ordered in huge masses, so that everybody had something he liked. My husband comes back and I can say the conversation wasn't different from the others. But I still want to know.

"And what did he say?" I ask him.

"He's having a lot of work at school."

"That's all?"

"That's all." Fight lost. We have to wait for the next day to come.

The doorbell rings and our dinner arrives. I tell my son to bring everything into the kitchen. I go to Ryan. He's sitting on the bed, an open book on his legs and writing. Homework. I ask myself what was left to do, after he spent so much time for it at school. I know Harbor is a lot of work, but not even Seth has to work so much and hard for his grades. Maybe this is really a measure of avoiding and my heart clenches at this idea.

"Dinner is ready." I say.

"Thanks." He says. He had stopped saying: I'm not hungry. He must have figured that this was no excuse for not eating in this house.

"Is everything okay with you?" I ask. I'm his mother now, so it's my job to figure out what's wrong, although I know. It's my job to talk to him and listen to him.

"Yes, really." He answers.

"With you and Marissa everything's okay?" And then there is this huge bright smile, like every time, when I mention his girlfriend. He blushes a little.

"Yes…more than okay…I guess." I'm glad of getting another answer despite his standard ones. This little sentence gives me the feeling as if he tries to open up to us. He gets up and walks to the door. I put an arm around him. He had stopped fighting physical contact and if I was carefully enough, he sometimes didn't even flinch. This was progress. But it was little and I start to be inpatient. He's my son and I want to treat him like that, not longer like a guest.

We're eating, my son and husband talking eagerly about their day – especially my son. It's the first evening I start to watch Ryan's behaviour carefully. I start to worry – really worry and I need to do something about his behaviour. He's sitting there listening, offering a lopsided smile once in a while and answering questions politely and short. He doesn't offer us one of his experiences of the day.

"Hey Ryan, what about some videogames? Relaxes your brain for a while." Her son asks when dinner is finished. Seth had eaten more than his body seem to be able to contain. He was young. He had all right to use the advantage of a well functioning metabolism. In comparison to him Ryan had again eaten hardly anything. He was even eating less than I do. This can't be right. He's same age as my own son, what means he needs at least more food than I do.

"Sorry, …I have to do an assignment in English Literature." He answers. If this was not enough reason to worry: assignment instead of videogames. Not good at all. I look at my husband, who only shrugs his shoulders. Of course this is not enough for me, but I have to let go, if I don't want to scare the boy away with my maternal feelings.

Ryan disappears in the pool house. That was it. Five minutes in the morning, five in the afternoon, and twenty in the evening. This was all. Does foster care mean we don't deserve more than thirty minutes of our new son? I'm not sure, but also I'm tiered of mentioning this topic again.

When I go to bed I see the lights in the pool house are still on. Later I wake up from my sleep, for some reason and then go to the window, to see the lights were still on. I see the door open. A form snuck out - a tall, thin one, with long hair. They kiss goodbye and I figure it is Marissa. At this time? That's strange. This was not typical Marissa. But they are young and in love and then one wanted more than only holding hands and kissing. But with the whole light on? I can't imagine that this was the reason for his lack of sleep. Or? Just to be on the saver side, I'll tell my husband in the morning to have a conversation with him. But they are fully clothed now and she is carrying a big bag with her. I look onto the watch and I feel my body was crying for sleep. One last look to the pool house only to see the lights were still on. Why aren't you talking to me – us? What's so damn wrong with you? What's holding you back? Why can't you trust us? What have I – we done?


	2. French Revolution

**A/N.:** One thing I forgot for all those who didn't read wind of change: Ryan used to be a straight-A-student.

* * *

_**French Revolution**_

**N**o I didn't sleep a lot last days…weeks…months – to be really honest to myself. I should be tiered like hell. But truth is: I can't sleep. And added to my every night nightmares I started to be afraid. Afraid of something nobody was afraid of. Seth isn't afraid of it, not Summer and of course not Marissa. But I am. This is fucked up and no matter how hard Marissa is trying to help me I just can't overcome this fear. Ridiculous, but bloody truth. Worse of all, Marissa was risking her family peace only to help me and I'm not able to improve. Something is definitely wrong with me. Well, I know this something. There are several other that don't. Yes, I start to feel like the most ungrateful scum one can imagine. I know they want to help. I know they won't hurt me. I know they won't judge me. But knowing it in theory didn't make it easier to transfer it into practise. And exactly this is my problem. I know all this…I just can't and I have no explanation why. As well as I have no explanation why I start to be scared…off school. I never was and I'm not supposed to be and yes, this doesn't help with my sleeping problem. Shit. This is all I can think about right now. A look at my clock tells me there are still three hours left before getting up. I hope getting some sleep. It's not that I'm getting nothing. Otherwise I'm sure my life span already would have reached its limit. I wake up every hour. Closing my eyes frightens me, because it's always the same scene coming up. The house, the shouting, my brother. The bang, the blood and the fact I was alone. I still am, am I? I have no clue, what I am and what not. Things had changed that fast that I wasn't able to recognize it all. Too fast for my taste. But who bothered asking me first? From Chino to Newport. From rotten family to an idealistic one. This was surreal. This couldn't work and that's a fact. I don't even blame the others. It's all my fault. I don't fit and they don't see it. But I'm tiered of trying to fit in. I don't want to adapt to a surrounding that will throw me out as soon as it gets an opportunity. Only two hours left now. The next morning is going to be funny. And as soon as I've finished this thought my alarm clock starts buzzing. I'm so damn fucking tiered. I have the feeling as if my body is going to collapse under its own weight. I go to the bathroom. A shower always can wake me up. I turn on the water, cold. But the effect of being awake afterwards is not as strong as it used to be. Let it tell it that way: effect equals zero. I put on my clothes and slowly walk to the kitchen in the main house. It still feels strange. This is not my home, this is not my kitchen, but I'm supposed to get to the cupboards and shelves and take out what I need. Even at the place that I called my home, I wasn't allowed to do so.

"Good morning Ryan." She greets me. And again I meet this concerned look. I don't understand her. No matter how often I tell her, I'm alright. She doesn't believe me. For my Mum these few words would have been enough to not being bothered for the rest of the week.

"Morning." I answer shy. She give's me a mug with hot steaming coffee. I drink it, although I know it won't help with my exhaustion.

"Are you hungry?" Already these two sentences are more my Mum had spoken to me in the morning - when she had managed to get up that early, what was rare. I start to feel sad. Not sad in a girly way. More like wanting to smash the mug against a wall. Crazy, I know. I'm screwed up. Complete totally screwed up with royalty getting send to the nuthouse.

"No, thanks." I answer. I stopped being hungry…well…I don't know exactly but it was sometime before I came here that's for sure.

"You need to eat something." I know, but since when does anybody care? Yes, I'm bothered by all these concerns and caring measures. I'm no straying puppy that needs to be pampered. I only need some space for myself.

"Here." She hands me a dry bagel. Not eating at all, would be impolite, thus I take little bites. My stomach starts to turn, but I ignore it. Ignoring things is my A-class skill.

"Hey, Ry what's up!?" I'm glad Seth enters the kitchen. He always gets a strange atmosphere lightened up and nobody asks stupid questions anymore.

"Nothing special." I answer.

"Well, this leaves me more space for my little problem." Meaning his girl-problems and I can imagine what this will be about.

"Did I tell you that Anna called last night?"

"Yes."

"And…now I…you know Anna and I before Summer and I and I don't know whether to tell her or not. I'm a little afraid she might be jealous or something at me and then start one of her revenge attacks."

"Seth, where is the problem?" As usual I'm overtaxed with the exercise discovering Seth's problem out of a bunch of fast spoken words.

"That Anna had called and I have no idea how to explain it to Summer without making her furious."

"Just tell her."

"Yes, but how will she react? She'll think that Anna and I still have something going and she will part…"

"Seth, you three were all friends. Just tell her that Anna had called and…dunno what she told you."

"Yes, but…"

"Seth, Summer is no monster and I guess your relationship is strong enough to bear such a phone call."

"Do you think so?"

"I do." Sometimes I wish Seth was able to think about the easy way first. And why did he have to make a drama about things like that? Well, at least it's funny.

"A wonderful morning to you all." This sentence only can come from Sandy. I ask myself, whether it was possible to meet him in a mood of frustration. On the other hand he had worked with a lot hopeless cases like me. Maybe this was making him more patient in somehow. I don't know. I only know that I was afraid of this man. Not in the way I used to be afraid of my Mum's boyfriends. This man was looking at me and I'm afraid he's looking through me – reading what's going on. This frightens me. My inside is the last piece of privacy I have left.

"C'mon Ry, we need to go. I want to talk to Summer before the lessons. I need to relieve my conscience." And with these words, Seth pulls me out of the house and I'm glad I'm leaving. I just can't stand this atmosphere. Everybody expecting this one thing and gets disappointed when I can't fulfil their wish – once again.

"Ryan, do you stay in the library again after school?" Kirsten asks. And I feel caught.

"Uh…yeah, think so." I answer. And I meet this look, telling me she knows I don't tell her everything. At least I'm not lying to them. This was the first habit I broke with. I couldn't lie to them. This was impossible – out of which reason I can't say. I just don't tell them everything.

"Is it because you don't like to be here?" She asks me and this question feels like a knife in my heart. This wasn't the reason. Okay, I don't feel too comfortable here, but it's okay, I guess.

"No…no…just can learn more efficient there." She nods and then we leave.

School is…not fine. I have the feeling as if I'm a dyslexic with a phobia of numbers and figures. I'm back where I came from: at the edge ready to fall down. No matter how hard I try, nothing works. I really want to, and in somehow I know I can. The previous months had been the best proof I'm not dumb. But maybe this only had been luck. On the other hand luck doesn't happen to me. I have no clue of what's wrong – wrong with me. Maybe it would be best for all, if I just leave. But this would bring me back straight to juvies.

"Mr. Atwood. One easy question for you: How long did the French revolution take place?" My history teacher asks. From 1789 to 1799, ten years. I know it. I can't answer him. I'm intimidated. He hates me, from the first lesson on and I have no idea why.

"I'm waiting for an answer." He goes on. I decide to switch in mute state. This is the best.

"Well Mr. Atwood as I said once, you should reconsider your choice of school." He says and then I'm free from him.

"Ryan, what's wrong with you?" She asks me. She was sitting behind me in classes. I shrug my shoulders. I feel embarrassed all her efforts and then this. My teacher is right. I should reconsider my choice of school. I don't fit here.

"Ryan, talk to me. You can't tell me you didn't know the answer." She goes on. She takes my arm and leads me out on the campus.

"I dunno." I sit down on a wall and she sits next to me, putting an arm around my waist.

"You should talk to Sandy and Kirsten about this. I mean the first quarter you didn't have any problems and now you even struggle in math. Something is utterly wrong and you could use some help." I know she's right, but what she says isn't that easy.

"I manage it on my own. I don't want to bother them with that." I say. She's the only person I can talk to like that. She's the only person I'm not afraid of telling too much.

"I don't think you would bother them. I guess they would be rather glad to see you start to trust them and let them help." I only shrug my shoulders once again.

"I can imagine the last few months had been rough and it's understandable that it's hard for you to go on as if nothing had happened. But it can't go on like this, because you're harming yourself." And there it is. It's all my fault and I admit it.

"And what if I change to a public school?" I just suggest. Honestly I've been thinking a lot about this opportunity. I won't be the odd one there and the stuff they're teaching is much easier than this here.

"No way. First of all, you can't allow Mr. Bork to get you down like that and second of all, when shell we see each other? We already have not enough time for each other. If you leave to another school it would be even less." She protests. "Despite at the end of the week Seth's parents will know anyway." Shit. That meant I had to hope they would just forget.

"And what then? How will you explain it to them? Better now than when it's already too late."

"It's already too late." I say and jump up. She had the skill to lay her finger as long on some sore point until I start to freak out.

"No, it's not."

"C'mon, we all know I don't fit into this. Everything was perfect as long I left for the weekends and the community had their free time. But…this…it's just not working. I'm caught in a place I don't belong to and everyone is expecting me to jump of joy. Sorry, but I can't do this." What I'm saying has nothing to do with my school problem anymore. But it feels as if all this is linked to each other. Added to that I just had to get it out of my mind.

"You might not belong here, but you belong to me and I'm reluctant to let you go. And if I have to fight day and night for it." She says, taking me into her arms. It's strange. I should be the strong one, protecting her. But it's…mixed up. She's the one, protecting me.

"Aren't you doing it again?" I only ask.

"Well, then I have to fight harder, if you can't. You can't only stand in for others. You can't only help others and then forget about yourself. This doesn't do you any good." And then she kisses me and it is as if I forget about everything.

I leave school late. I have no other choice. The others probably are already having dinner. I have to say a big thank you to Seth, when this episode is over. He's covering me and having my back, although I can see he wants to tell his parents. He trusts them. When he has a problem and can't solve it he knows they'll fix it for him. I'm used to fix them on my own and I don't want to be a burden. I feel like an intruder and I don't need to worsen this feeling. I just try to be as invisible as possible - a little complicated if everyone is having an eye on you.

"Hey Ryan, nice to see you. I started to think you might move to the school." Sandy says when I enter the kitchen.

"Sorry." I only say. My behaviour is out of place. No matter what I do, it's wrong.

"Sit down and have something to eat." Kirsten says. This is nothing to discuss about, I can hear it in her voice. But I'm not hungry.

"Is that all?" Kirsten asks me. I'm making a mental note: never eating alone only with Sandy and Kirsten around. But this was my fault. If I had arrived earlier, Seth would have been there.

"Sorry…not hungry." I mumble and bring my plate into the kitchen, putting it into the dishwasher then I leave for the pool house. I feel their glances in my back.

I'm sorry for not having much time for Seth, as I used to have. It was a fun time and a lot easier, when I hadn't been a part of the household. I start to concentrate on my math homework, without success. I used to take only thirty minutes for them. Now it's nearly one hour and twenty minutes. Someone is knocking at the door of the pool house. It can't be Seth. He's out with Summer, thus not that bad that I don't have much time left, I think.

"Hey, can I come in?" It's Kirsten.

"Yeah, of course." This is your house, you don't have to ask.

"Here, I went to the pharmacy today and they said this tea can help you sleeping." She places the mug onto my desk and I have no idea what to think about this. She isn't finished with her visit yet. She sits down on the bed.

"Ryan, I…we start to worry a bit. You're not sleeping, eating and you're working so hard for school. Is there something you want to talk about?"

"No…thanks…I'm fine…really." I feel caught. She sighs.

"I don't have to tell you that I don't buy this from you." She answers. "But if you start to feel like talking or need any help with anything, please let Sandy or me know. That's what we're there for." She says and then leaves the pool house and I'm again left with a bad conscience.


	3. Demons in his Soul

**_Demons in his Soul_**

**W**hen I open the envelope I can't believe what I'm reading. This wasn't what I expected. The boys are out for school now, their luck…his luck. I start to ask what went wrong and come to the conclusion: everything. And in this mood I'm supposed to talk to him about his relationship to Marissa. No way. When I'm finished with him, he won't see her the next few weeks.

"Sandy, what's wrong?" My wife asks me and I just give her the letter. She's stunned like I am.

"How is this possible?"

"I don't know. I hoped you could tell me." She shakes her head. How was this possible? The first letter was such a huge surprise and now I'm disappointed. But now his behaviour started to make sense. Learning till late at night, secret visits from Marissa, coming home late after school. This boy has had everything else up on his mind than school.

"And what are we doing now?" My wife asks me. And again it's me who has to find a solution.

"Talk to him." This is the only thing I know right now. But I can predict this conversation will end in a monologue from my side or in a fight. This boy was everything else than easy to handle. It was much more different being his foster parents than only being nice people letting him stay here for a while, thus he can go to school. I'm at a loss. I don't know how to reach the boy or how to build any kind of relationship to him. Nobody does, despite Marissa. On the one hand I'm glad he has at least one person he can open up to. On the other hand I wish it was Kirsten or me, as I don't think Marissa is able to give him the help and support he needs. She's no bad girlfriend. But she's only a kid and I can't expect her to help Ryan with his life. Yes, this will be a relaxed and joyful evening.

The whole day I try to find a plausible explanation for what I have read. But I can't find one. I hope to find something telling me, it wasn't the boy's fault. But there's nothing. And fact is: school is his responsibility. I should have expected from the beginning that he isn't used to take responsibility and that he will struggle with it. But this doesn't match him. He never was lazy. He took care of his business, carefully. But after all what had happened he might be a bit off.

The boys come home. I'm glad my temper has eased off a little. I don't want to shout at the very beginning of our conversations.

"Hey boys. How was school?" I ask. I don't want to go like a bull at a gate.

"Was cool." My own son answers.

"Your reports arrived today." I hand him his report and the changing looks between my son and Ryan tells me, they know what comes up next. Worse of all my son knew and hadn't told me.

"Ryan, can you explain me this?" I ask and then hand him his. He doesn't even look at it. His head ducked. He had figured he had messed it up. And I already feel bad for having to give him some lecture at being responsible and so on.

"Sorry." He only mumbles and this word breaks my heart, every time when they're said.

"C is the best you can achieve? Ryan something went utterly wrong this quarter. There are four Ds. Last quarter there wasn't even a B." I start. He only nods.

"I can imagine that this wouldn't have happened without Marissa's little night visits and if you had come home from school." I don't get a reaction. My own son stays next to his friend ready to help if it was necessary.

"Ryan, why did you lie to us?" I ask again.

"I didn't lie…just didn't tell everything." He now answers shyly. But this is enough to blow my top.

"Damn it Ryan! You're risking your future? Is you're little teeny-revolution worth it?" I start to scream. Since he had been arrived for a permanent stay, he had changed. He was avoiding us … boycotting every attempt to help him or make him being part of the family.

"Don't you realize how much your behaviour hurts Kirsten and me? We do everything to make things easier for you and this is the way you thank us?" I don't know what I'm saying. I don't calculate the effect the words might have as I should concerning his past.

"I didn't ask you to! You just decided!" He now screams back and there it was: a fight, once again.

"Don't start with that again!"

"Dad…I think…you got the whole situation wrong." My son intervenes.

"Wrong? What can I get wrong? Ryan doesn't pay attention to school and this is the result!"

"Would I've been at school for so long everyday?" He screams back.

"Who tells me that's true?!" I scream back.

"The criminal from Chino has to prove everything, what? Don't tell me to trust you, when you don't even trust me!"

"You don't even try to convince us from something different!"

"Fuck you!" He screams and then runs off.

"Wait, where do you think you're going?" I get no answer. I only hear the door slam and then my wife appears in the kitchen.

"What was that?" She asks me.

"Dad had folded Ryan flat before listening." My son answers and I shoot angry glances at him. This was not my fault. He had messed this report up. Not I.

"If it's that way, then explain me what's right." I announce my son.

"He really stayed long at school after the classes, taking supporting curses and all the stuff. He knew he was messing up this quarter, although he learned as hard as he did before. That's why he came home late. He didn't want to disappoint you. And…Marissa was there to help him with history. His teacher is really a bitch and he hates Ryan, from the very beginning of the classes and nobody knows what Ryan had done wrong, despite from not being from Newport. That's all. He did everything to get good grades at school. But no matter how hard he tried…it just didn't work." Shit. Now I start to feel awful. Why hadn't I come to this conclusion on my own? It had been so uncharacteristic Ryan, if it had been they way I accused him for.

"Well done Sandy." Is all I get to hear from my wife. She has all right to be upset. I behaved like the last man on earth. But I'm helpless in Ryan's case and this is frustrating me. I want to help him, being there for him, but he doesn't allow me to.

"Is Harbor too hard for him?" My wife asks my son.

"Don't think so or? I mean his last report was…good." I sigh. Things went worse from day to day and I had no control. I have no idea what to do now. The boy is crying for help, each day more and I can't help him. He not even knows he needs help, still thinking he can handle all on his own.

It's late at night, when I receive Marissa's call. She has found Ryan at the beach and he's drunk. I realize now we're back again from where we have started. He had made progress, only little, but there had been some improvement. And now it was all over. I get into the car and drive to the beach. Marissa is already waiting for me.

"He's here." She says when she sees me coming. Ryan is in an alcohol induced sleep.

"How did you find him?" I ask her.

"Seth had called and told me he ran." She's taking a lot responsibility when she starts to care for him and she doesn't even know.

"Okay, thank you." I go to the boy grabbing his arm, to get him into the car.

"Sandy," She calls after me and I turn around again, "He needs help. He doesn't see it now. But…the whole thing with his brother had hit him harder as he admits it. He's really struggling to keep his life in balance and in order. He'll break down if nobody steps in." Even she had noticed. Now only Ryan had to.

"I know. It's only a little hard to make him understand." I answer and then grab his arms to get him up onto his feet.

"Leave me." He says. He's able to articulate, so I don't have to worry it might have been one sip too many.

"You can't stay here over night. You're catching a cold." I say to convince him.

"Who cares? Maybe you've luck and I disappear over night out of your life." My heart clenches. If he only could imagine what this would mean to us. My – our - world would shatter into pieces if he did. He only doesn't understand.

"Don't talk like that." I say.

"Why not? Wanna kick my ass?" He doesn't trust me in any way. I see Marissa's defeated look. This is a whole new side from her boyfriend she sees right now. I pad her shoulder, assuring her everything will be okay again.

He's out of training. When he came to us first a bottle of this stuff wouldn't have killed him and now I'm afraid he might puke into my car. I drive as carefully as I can to not to disturb his stomach. I feel bad. If I had listened earlier, if I had noticed something earlier, put a finger on it earlier, Ryan wouldn't have gone back to his previous behaviour. In somehow I feel guilty that he's drunk now. I also realize that he had stopped drinking hadn't meant he had found another solution to cope with things. He only had suppressed them. We need to do something about this. We need to figure out what's wrong at school, with this history teacher. There are so many things to be solved and I can't imagine how. When we arrive at home I help the boy getting into the pool house. He's too drunk to notice anything. That's what I thought before he manages on his own to reach the bathroom in time, before make a mess on the floor. Nothing about him makes sense and I can't get this confusion into a plausible order. I hear him throwing up and I enter the bathroom. I try to see it that way: few months before he wouldn't even have a hangover the next morning. I kneel down, rubbing his back. He flinches.

"Kid, what shell I do with you?" I try to make him understand that this isn't easy for me either. I doubt he understands.

"Send me back where I come from?" If he only could feel what I feel every time he says things like that.

"Sorry, I can't. You're too important to me." I hand him a cloth. He doesn't look at me, when he takes it.

"That's what my Mum said, before Trey left. She never bothered to show him it was true." And what about you? Did she ever show you? I doubt it. Otherwise I can't explain his behaviour to myself.

"Sandy? Ryan? Everything okay?" My wife steps in and meets us in the bathroom. The boy leans against the wall. She looks at me and she notices what had happened. She sighs.

"C'mon, kid. Let's get you to bed." I say, before helping him up again and guiding him towards the bed. He fights against my hands and arms, supporting him. I need to be careful. I messed up, I know it. I need to make him trust me, not fight me. My wife pulls the blankets away. When he reaches the bed he curls up into a little ball. Even when he's sleeping he's defensive. My wife tucks him in, carefully.

"Sorry." He mumbles. He means this word. Every time he says it, although it's often – too often. We – my wife and I – can feel it.

"Is okay sweetie. We talk tomorrow." She says, stroking through his hair.

We leave the pool house heavy hearted.

"He needs help." My wife says.

"We should talk to Dr. Kim first thing on Monday." I answer. We need to find a solution for his report mess.

"Sandy, this report card is only one effect of…what had happened to him last months and previous. It's not the school itself. It's his past. He's fighting on to many fronts." And I know she's right. But how to defeat these old demons which have settled in his soul and are reluctant to leave it?


	4. Bottling up is annoying

_**Bottling up is annoying**_

**T**his morning is going to be everything else than joyful. Last night Ryan had made two steps back, after he had been able to make one forward. I can understand my husband. This boy is the first case he really has to fight for. This is a case he feels helpless towards. I'm sad too, about the fact he didn't let us in on his problem at school – in on his thoughts. My husband wanted to have this 'little' conversation alone with him. He hasn't figured yet that the boy is frightened and intimidated by him. How should he? No kid had been before and he doesn't intend to frighten him, but he does. I take a mug and pour coffee into it. He'll need it, when Sandy starts his lecture. I walk to the pool house. When I open the door I see he's still sleeping in the same position in which we have left him last night. This position tells me even in his sleep he's afraid of getting hurt. I put the mug onto on of the bed stands and then open the blinds. This doesn't wake him. I go to him, stroking through his hair. I know what he had done wasn't right, but last night we all have made several mistakes and I can't blame him for his.

"Hey Ryan, time to get up." I say to him, carefully.

"hmmm.", is all I get. He's awake.

"You should be awake, before Sandy comes." I warn him. I don't want him feeling defenceless. I know we have to act around Ryan very carefully and patient. My husband does either, but sometimes he just forgets about it. We both know the boy is hurt, we both want to help. Only Sandy is at his wit's end. All usual methods don't work with Ryan and realizing this is hard.

"Shit. Take a shower first?" He mumbles.

"Sure." I answer. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable. He slowly crawls out of bed. He's hangover, I can see it. But he doesn't want me to notice. Thus I remain silent about it. He slowly grabs his cloths and disappears in the bathroom. It doesn't take long and my husband enters the pool house.

"Ready to rumble?" He asks me, before kissing me. This is only a joke, but in the moment I don't think it's funny. There a fundamental conflicts in our relationship to the boy and we need to solve them soon.

"Don't be too hard on him. We both know he only tries to satisfy us. Don't blame him only because it doesn't work." I try to calm him.

"But we need to explain him that he can…has to come to us, when he has problems at school and we need to explain him that he needs help and that this school thing is just an effect of something much bigger than school." I guess the boy already knows that. He just doesn't tell us. He doesn't have to cope with everything on his own, but he does. He still behaves like a guest who just doesn't want to bother us too much. I see him exiting the bathroom. He's not wearing a t-shirt, thus his back exposes some huge scars I haven't seen before – scars he'll never tell us, where they come from.

"Sorry." He excuses for not being fully dressed and then immediately pulls over one of the white t-shirts. By means of the fading stains on it, I figure it is the one t-shirt I wanted him to chuck away. This is the symbol of all his suffering and I can't imagine he likes wearing it. He's inflicting pain to himself this way. Voluntarily or just by accident? I can't tell. I only feel the urge to rip it off and burn it. I don't want him wearing it anymore.

"Ryan, we need to talk, about last night." My husband, who had taken place in one of the basket-chairs, starts. Ryan slowly goes to the bed and sits down – with sufficient safe distance.

"I'm sorry for jumping on things like that. I should have waited for an explanation." Ryan's expression on his face is defensive and sceptical. He tries to figure whether to trust these words or not.

"I can understand you were angry about it. I would have been either. But getting drunk of frustration is no solution and I thought you have gotten rid of this habit." He starts to become agitated and I see Ryan is making more distance between my husband and him.

"Sorry." He only whispers. There is no self-confidence in his behaviour. It's nothing but fear and defence and if he starts acting like a brat I know it's because he's afraid of getting hurt. He wants to show us: you can't hurt me. Worse of all is to notice that we can hurt him easily with one wrong word, with one gesture. He's so fragile and everyday is a fight for keeping him in one piece.

"Ryan, sorry isn't what I wanna hear. I wanna hear that you have problems at school, what they are and that before I'm faced with the results." Now he's speaking very vigorously. Ryan's focusing the floor, his eyes rapidly pacing around - being prepared.

"We're here for you to talk to us, about anything. You're no longer only a guest…but our son. You're our responsibility and we don't want them to take you away again, only because they think we can't handle you. Ryan, you need to meet us somewhere on this way. We want to help you. That's what we are there for. But we can't read your mind. You have to come to us and talk. You should be smart enough to understand this." Ryan remains silent. Not moving. I doubt he's even breathing.

"Ryan, can't you say something about this?" My husband encourages him.

"I screwed up, what else to be said?" I sigh. When he doesn't fight back, he takes the whole blame.

"This is not what we wanna hear. I want to know what's the problem with you history teacher, for example."

"Hell, do I know?" Now he's in rage and I look at my husband, trying to tell him he needs to be careful right now.

"He came in one day and told me I shouldn't expect any kind of…pity and that he won't make it too easy for me. That's it. I haven't even said something to him then. He just hates me for some damn reason." A few months before he would have used the word 'fuck' in this sentence. A few months before, he wouldn't have told us. My heart jumps a little, because this means he starts to trust us. There is this one step forward again.

"And what about the other classes?" My husband asks on. He shrugs his shoulders.

"Ryan?"

"Dunno. I really work like hell, but…doesn't work. Just too dumb, I guess." Now he's whispering again. He feels uncomfortable. But he gives us some truths. He lets us in into his inner world. This is only a little piece, but it's a lot for now. My husband looks at me and I see in his eyes, he's feeling the same.

"Did you ever come to the conclusion that this might be the result of something else?" Sandy asks on.

"Maybe…a public school is a better place for me." At least he didn't deny that there was something wrong. Maybe last night wasn't as bad.

"No Ryan. You were such a good student in the first quarter. I can't imagine you turned from smart into dumb that fast." I notice what my husband wants to say. This is definitely a sore point.

"Did you ever think you might be overstrained? Coping with your mother's and brother's loss, trying to adapt to a whole new world. This is too hard for you on your own." I watch Ryan clenching his jaw. Sandy is close to the edge of a new fight – too close.

"I…dunno…but what had happened … doesn't excuse…everything." Ryan admits he had understood. He only doesn't want to accept the fact that his past is bothering him badly.

"Ryan, this is no excuse. It's an explanation. It's a little hard to get a head around this report after the first quarter went so well. Ryan, you got a scholarship and you made it without any help." I start to intervene. I see that he needs help and with every passing day it'll be harder to help. He's getting drowned in his problems and doesn't even realize. He's so focused on satisfying and not bothering the others, he doesn't notice he's unable to cope with everything on his own.

"Ryan, you have to adapt to a whole new environment. You have to handle Harbor High. You have to cope with a lot of shit of your past. This is a fight at three fronts and you…haven't even managed to win one of these fights. This is impossible. You need to solve this step by step." My husband starts to explain Ryan what his problem is.

"I know, I pretty screwed up this time and I'm really sorry for it. But this doesn't make my whole life a problem." Ryan answers. He doesn't see what we do.

"It is Ryan!" My husband now yells. This was what I wanted to prevent. Ryan's body language tells me, he close to run again. He's tetchy.

"No. It's not your whole life. But it's obvious that some things of your past are bothering you and as long as you haven't solved this problem, you can't solve the other ones." I step in to calm both my men down.

"Mum?" My son disturbs our conversation.

"Seth, can't you wait a minute?" I call back.

"Uh…no…this is…important…really. There's someone at the phone who really wants to talk to you."

"Tell him I call later." I don't want to leave Ryan now. This here was too important.

"Uh…Mum…this is really, really important." I sigh. "Sorry." I say and then go into the kitchen. Well done. Now Ryan will have the feeling as if everything else was more important to me, than his well being. I pick up the phone

"Kirsten Cohen?"

"_Mrs. Cohen?…Hello…my…my name is Frank Atwood. I'm…Ryan's father…_" My heart drops. I never had counted on this.

"Yes…uh…nice to hear from you." I answer unsure what to say.

"_Well, might…might I talk to my son?_" This is quite a bad time. But I can't say no. He's the only family member the boy has left.

"Yes…o…okay." I answer take the phone and go to the pool house.

"Ryan, it's for you." I say. He looks at me questioning. But I can't tell him more. I'm too busy to order my feelings. What if he hurts Ryan? The boy already was hurt enough by his family. He doesn't need his father to do so either. What does this man want? As far as I'm in the know Ryan hasn't been in contact with his father for ten years. This was a long time. I watch the boy. He looks confused and has no idea what to say. He only mumbles something I can't understand. He comes back and hands the phone to my husband and then leaves. The expression on his face says: pain. I don't know what to do now? Shell I go with him? He probably wouldn't like it. I still remember the appointment at the orthopaedist. He has had trouble with his knee for too long and I only wanted to be sure it wasn't something serious. Thus I had made the appointment. He wasn't too happy about it. His knee was only very bad bruised and I was relieved to hear that. But since then I know, I better leave him alone when there are problems. It's not right, especially not now. But what shell I do? I don't want him to draw even further away from us. When my husband's finished he switches off the phone.

"He's out. He wants to meet us and…Ryan." He says. Oh no. This was even worse as I thought it was.

"He will take Ryan away from us, will he?" I ask. This thought hurts. Things aren't easy with Ryan, but I can't lose him. He's a part of me, as my son and my husband are. And no matter if he understands or not, I love him like that.

"Maybe. But…first of all we have to see whether Ryan wants to and if his father is capable to care for him." My husband wants to take my pain away. But he can't.

"I…can't give him away. Sandy, no matter how difficult things are and how hard he pushes us – me – away, he's my boy. I don't give it to some kind of man who decides after ten years that he has a son." The frustration speaks out of me. It was the first time we had a real conversation with Ryan. A conversation in which he started to open up to us. He was ready to meet us somewhere on this way. This was more than we have achieved last months. And now I'm afraid his father might destroy this progress. I go into the main house. Seth and Ryan a playing video games – as if nothing had happened.

"And…how do you feel about this…phone call?" I hear my son ask.

"Dunno."

"Well, just as an info, this whole not talking and all bottling up behaviour might be cool in Chino, but here it's just annoying."

"I think about it."


	5. When it's time

_**When it's time to**_

"**H**ow do you feel?" She asks me. This question really steps on my nerves, as it's asked frequently since he had called. But she's the only one I don't bother when she's asking it.

"Awkward, I guess." Honestly, I have no idea what I'm feeling right now. Ten years is a long time and I can't remember him really. Hey, I've been six when he left. What am I supposed to remember anyway?

"Ten years, is long." She says. She always expresses, what I'm thinking. Like our minds are connected to each other. Ten years. He's a complete stranger to me. How am I supposed to react? How shell I behave? I don't know. Only this is distracting me from my school problems.

"Are you looking forward meeting him?"

"Dunno. Yes…no…he's a stranger to me." She puts an arm around me. I'm afraid of meeting him. I'm afraid I might hurt him, or Kirsten and Sandy. I've seen their looks when he had called and they have been everything else than happy. But he's my father and the only person I have left from my family. But…Sandy, Kirsten Seth…they mean something to me as well, although I haven't been able to figure what, yet. I don't want to hurt them and deep down I know I'm only afraid I'll have to leave them. I only don't want to admit it to myself. I don't want to admit that these people, who have taken me in, mean something to me. And why? Because I'm a coward and a screwed up psycho with some kind of phobia. At least this is the way I would describe it.

"Do you want me to come with you? As support?" She asks me. And yes, I really, really want her to be at my side. But I can't tell her.

"No, it's better, when I do this on my own." Why? Because I'm not used to having support? If this was the explanation, a lot of problems could be solved within a second. Unfortunately it's not.

"You don't have to do this on your own. Ryan, here are people who like to help you in this situation." And exactly this is the problem. As Sandy had said, if I want them to help me, I have to meet them somewhere on the way. Something I can't afford right now. I'm afraid of releasing only one small piece. Because only the slightest piece can set off an avalanche I'll never be able to stop. So I better remain being the ungrateful little piece of shit.

"I wish you could tell me, why you're unable to accept help. I can't imagine you do this too hurt them…us…do you?" She wants answers and she's the only one I can't lie to.

"I…just can't. This is hard to explain." I see in her eyes that this answer doesn't satisfy her. She wants the real reason, my past, my history, the so called background. Hell, if I told her, she never would meet me again. She'll realize I'm a train wrack – not better than my Mum.

"Try." And then she looks into my eyes and she tells me, no matter what I tell her, she'll never talk to someone. She'll never judge me, for what had happened, for what I've done.

"It's like Jenga. At one point the sticks are stuck together so confused that, no matter which one you pull out, the whole tower breaks together." She nods and I know she has understood.

"I gotta go." I say, kiss her. Her lips smooth as velvet.

"Call me." She says and I will. I always call her before going to bed, some kind of ritual that gives me security.

I enter the house and head to the kitchen. There are voices, but this is not unusual. The house is always busy. When pass the living room I see three people. Sandy and Kirsten and a man I never have seen before, but I know who he is. I immediately start to panic, inwardly. I need to stay cool at the outside. I feel the urge to run. At Marissa's this only had been theory, but now it's bloody reality and I'm so not ready for this.

"Hey Ryan, good you come home." Kirsten says and comes towards me. She puts an arm around me – I flinch – and guides me to the suite.

"Hello, Ryan." The man gets up and formally shakes my hand. He's tall. I can't imagine he had been that tall. Well, I can't imagine having seen him before. I can't speak. My throat his tight. My heart beats two hundred eighty beats per minute. I swear I'm not exaggerating.

"I'm Frank, you probably can't remember me." He says. He's right. No, not exactly. There are some things I still can remember. At least I think I do.

"Ten years is a long time, isn't it?" Ten years are nearly my whole life. He makes a step towards me. I step back. Reflex.

"Ryan, why don't you sit down and we talk." Sandy suggests. But I can't move.

"Ryan, I didn't want to throw you a curve with my visit." He did. But no matter when he had been there, now or ten years later, I wouldn't react different.

"Is everything okay with you?" Kirsten asks and only now I realize my breath goes fast and heavy. I don't know what hits me, but I have to get out of this room, the house. Without running I make my way out the patio. This wasn't easy. At least not as easy as I thought it would be. I watch the horizon and take some deep breaths. I don't calm down.

"Ryan, everything okay?" Sandy asks me. Hell, do I look like I'm okay? I don't say anything.

"Do…you want to talk to him alone?" No, I don't. I'm afraid to be alone with him.

"Ryan, you need to say something to me." Sandy only wants to help, but right now I can't even help myself.

"Okay, you know what? I send him out. Thus you two have your privacy, but we're right there when you need us. Is it a deal?" I only nod.

"It'll be okay." He says, pats my shoulder and then leaves back to the house. Frank comes out. He remains on the one side of the pool, as I remain on the other side.

"Sorry, if I scared you." He says. "If you want me to, I can leave…and just vanish out of your life." No! I want to scream this word. I just can't. He's the only person I have left…well, he's my last family.

"Shell I go?" I only shake my head. I can't talk right now. "Still not the talker. I hoped this would change one day. But, it's okay. I felt bad, when they told me, you're Mum – Dawn – died…well not…because of our great relationship. I worried about you." I only watch him. A hurricane runs through my emotions and I have no clue of what they mean.

"Did you know Trey visited me once in a while? I was quite angry with him, when he told me he left. Especially, when he told my why. He could have taken you with him. I'm sorry…for…for not being there. I'm your father. I…should have been there to protect you and Trey from the…men…no scum is the better description for that. And…and…I'm sorry for what has happened to Trey.…I can't tell you how bad I feel." He's sorry for a lot of things he isn't to be blamed for.

"Okay, uhm…I…better go now. Give you some space. Uhm…would you…would you like to meet me again? So you could be better prepared and…you know?" Yes! I can't say this, because I'm fucking scared.

"Uhm…don't…rush…things okay." I'm able to answer, but I'm not sure if this was audible at this distance.

"So…you want me to go…that's okay…ten years is… " He understood exactly what I didn't wanted him to understand.

"No…I…is…but…" I'm not able to build a full sentence.

"So, we see us again…and we take it easy, is it what you want to tell me?" I nod. "Okay, that's…I understand you. I gave Mrs. Cohen my phone number and address. So when you feel like talking or dropping by, don't hesitate." He says. Then he leaves.

In the evening I'm sitting over my homework, but I'm unable to concentrate on it.

"Hey, dinner is ready." It's Sandy.

"Yeah, just a second." I want to finish this sentence, but I've already forgotten about it was. When I've finished it, Sandy again sits in one of the basket-chairs. This meant: conversation. It seemed as if I was having three a day of them.

"And, do you want to see him again?" Of course he wants to know about this. I could have seen it coming.

"Guess so." I'm not in a mood for long conversations, but I owe them honest answers.

"And how do you feel about this?" That's what I'm asking myself since he left.

"Dunno…strange…Ten years is a long time." Why do I tell him? I don't know, but if I do, I must really get rid of it.

"Nobody expects you to behave as if these ten years never happened. A relationship needs to develop." And this is not easy. I feel bad. Bad, because they want to have a kind of relationship to me, and I didn't allow them. Maybe I have to rethink my attitude. I can't reject my father. He's the only person I…left from my family and I really can't remember having hated him like I did the others. But I also can't go on with rejecting Sandy and Kirsten. I can't go on rejecting and hurting them, not after what they have done for me. And yes, there's already something I can't deny. What means, I have to kick my ass and stop being suspicious about everything and everyone.

"I know…it's…just…I learned to live without him for ten years and…now he's there again…dunno."

"This definitely turns your life upside down and it's okay to be afraid of this change – especially when there had been that much in such a short time."

"And what if it doesn't work?"

"I don't see that possibility. But if it doesn't, nobody can blame you. You were six when he left, now you're sixteen, so still not old enough to play the parent. And promise me, you won't start doing so."

"I try to." I answer. It's not easy to behave like an OC-teenager, when you're actually a Chino-teenager.

"And promise me to talk to me, if anything bothers you. This is not going to be easy and we all know you're already overtaxed with everything." This was not going to be easy. No, but has he to be that cruel and tell me things I don't want to hear or know?

"Ryan, we don't want to lose you." But you can't avoid it, when it's time to.


	6. Can you imagine how it feels?

_**Can you imagine how it feels?**_

**I**'m glad for Ryan. His biological father really seems to care. He is patient with him. He really wants this relationship to work. I think this is good for Ryan. Everybody needs some own family and knowing there's still someone left after he had lost it nearly completely, must be comforting. But I'm also afraid. I'm afraid his biological father might hurt him. Ten years are a lot. Ten years jail shape you and it's hard to get your life into order when you're out. And there is this big fear he might take Ryan away from us. Right now, I don't think he would do so. There's still a huge gap between them. But Ryan is working hard to get it decreasing. It sounds strange, but he's my son. I'm envious of Frank Atwood. He appears in front of my door and wants my son. And worse of all, Ryan is acting easier and more comfortable around his biological father than around us. But we are his family. Okay, he's acting easier around us too. He's more open towards us, letting us in on his thoughts. But it's not fair. We were working hard and did hardly succeed and this man, who hadn't cared for ten years? And he shouldn't dare coming to me and telling it was because of his lock up, because even there they have phones. But Ryan seems to trust us. He doesn't want to meet his father alone, yet. So he's coming to us. I watch them. I can't imagine having seen Ryan smiling that often.

"And, what about a girlfriend?" The man is acting around his son – my son -, as if nothing had happened. This was a lie. But maybe it was better than everything else. It's too hurtful to accept their father-son-relationship. We've been those who had to fight the boy through all those tragedies.

"Does…the colour of your face mean yes?" This unstrained conversation. I only have these unstrained conversations to my own son. Why can't I have them with Ryan? Why do they always have to be about a new problem, a new conflict?

"So, I take it as yes. Will you introduce me to her?"

"Dunno…do you…do you want to?"

"It's up to you. I don't want to push you." And that's the difference between you and me. I know who his girlfriend is. I know her, because I'm around.

"Hey, is Ryan there?" My wife steps into the kitchen. Her kiss distracts me from my jealousy.

"Yes, he's outside. Why?"

"I want to know if he has everything he needs for preparing the dinner."

"Is it his turn again?" I ask. Since he arrived here we're eating more self-made food than before. He's a real good cook and I wonder what is making him cooking that well. And why does he like to cook? I have no clue, but I guess it's only another result of growing up all alone.

"And what's on the menu card for today?" Her big smile tells me: lasagne. She loves Italian food and especially Ryan's home made lasagne. It's ridiculous: a teenager who cooks. But sometimes I think he only wants to show us that he's okay with us. His way to say I like you.

"Ryan!" My wife calls out. I see him turning around.

"I just wanted to know whether I have to go out again, to get something you need for dinner."

"No…uh…thanks…but I have everything."

"Oh…it's already late. I better go home then." His father says. I feel relieve. I'm not sure how long I'm able to hold back my strange feelings about this situation.

"You can stay and have dinner with us…of course only if you want to…and…and if Ryan is okay with that." My wife steps in. Hope destroyed. I have no right to grump about this. We were told that his father would come out one day. We knew that this had been the reason why we weren't able to adopt him. Yes, inwardly I'm only waiting for Frank Atwood to mess this up. But I have to put Ryan's well being on firstplace and fact is: the boy couldn't handle another deep hit.

"Depends on what Ryan says."

"Uh…yeah…if…if it's okay." The boy is still not easy in making decisions. And no I don't like this one. But I can't let him feel that. I would only push him away and then? I watch them all come in.

"How many will we be this evening?" My wife asks, but Seth already enters the kitchen with Summer in tow.

"I don't know Mum, but nevertheless can Summer stay for dinner?" His own son asks.

"Why not?" I ask back. This house is usually busy. It has to be. It's scary when it's only me and my wife around here. I notice how Frank Atwood disappears politely into the background of the scene.

"Well, then it's only Marissa who's missing for the evening." I suggest. Why? I want to show him, who the father is in this house. And I want to show him, what he had missed for so long. In my eyes he has no right to inherit the father role after ten long years. The boy looks a little uncomfortable and I'm afraid I might have said something wrong.

"Go and get her. Julie is not home." My wife steps in and then his face lightens up.

"Seth, this is Mr. Atwood. Mr. Atwood, this is my son Seth." I have to introduce them to each other, because as it looks like, we'll have to see him more often.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Mr. Atwood says. It's curious. He acts like Ryan, only a little more mature. But he's the same way shy as the boy is.

"And this is Summer Roberts." I go on.

"Hi." He says and then Ryan appears with Marissa. When I look at them I always have to think of Kirsten and me. They're both so different from each other, but fit perfectly together.

"And I'm Marissa Cooper." She introduces herself. She's self-confident. That's what the boy needs.

"Frank Atwood."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." She says and I see she's honest. She wants to be a part of Ryan and she wants to know his life.

"Well, then this will be a huge dinner. Ryan, do you still think you can handle this? We can easily order something." My wife asks him.

"Uh…no…it's okay." He answers.

"I help you." Marissa says and takes his hand. They're so in love with each other.

"If…if you don't mind, I can help too." His real father offers.

"Yes…uh sure."

"Okay, then what do you want to prepare for dinner?" His real father asks on. I see there's a connection. It's the same that's between my own son and my wife – the same between my own son and me. Maybe I have to accept that it's impossible to build up the same relationship to a boy who's not yours and grew up somewhere else than under your shelter.

"Lasagne."

"No way! This is what I used to make on weekends. Do you remember? Trey never stopped begging for it and you liked it too." His real father asks.

"No…sorry." Ryan whispers. Now he had made his first mistake.

"Well, then let me show you what you've forgotten about." And with this sentence he again takes Ryan's uneasiness away and they start their project in the kitchen. My own son and his girl and my wife are setting the table. And I? What am I doing? I get the feeling of being dispensable occurs somewhere in the depth if my inner world. I start to think, whether I'm really dispensable. Not for my own family. But for Ryan? I'm replaced and I can't blame him.

"Or do you remember when Trey nearly ate half of the casserole?" His real father goes on. He really seems to be happy having his son – the last remaining one – around.

"I know he was keeping awake the whole night, telling he never wanted lasagne again." My boy answers. He had lost his shyness. Wow, he's developing fast. But maybe it's Marissa who's giving him support. She always does. She had been the one, helping to fit into Harbor at the beginning. She had shown him that Newport was not much different from Chino, making it easier for him going out once in a while. She really had been able to make his time easier. And I? I always have these conversations with him, which don't even succeed. I'm jealous of everyone who knows how to handle my boy.

"You can't roast the mince together with the garlic!" I hear his father protesting.

"Yes, I have to."

"But it's getting dry."

"I'm not roasting it on a hot flame and moreover I need to do this to get a better flavour." Yes, this boy knew how to cook. I would like to know, whether he is able to teach my wife a little.

"I never did that."

"No, but you're old and your time is over Dad." He says laughing. No…wait…has he…no he…Dad? Why in hell? How could he call him Dad in front of my ears? I didn't want to hear this. It hurts because it's making clear to me I can't hold him here. He'll leave, moving to his real father and then? This man was no Dad. He had been in lock up for armed robbery. He hadn't protected his boy through these ten years. He hadn't been there for him. He was no Dad. He didn't care.

"Don't be so nasty towards you father." Marissa says teasingly and slaps my boy's arm. No, this man wasn't his father. I was his Dad, because he wasn't able to care enough. I was the father the boy needed because I gave him the support and comfort he needed and I still give it to him.

"Okay, you're the boss now." His father said.

"Oh no, I doubt that." Marissa says, taking the spoon out of his hand.

"Hey! Give it back."

"No.

"Oh, yes." And then he starts to kiss her. I'm used to Seth kissing Summer, when we're around, but Ryan? He's really much more relaxed and I should feel happy. He's back on the right track.

"Eww, stop this soft porn and get the dinner ready. I'm starving." My own son says, when he passes by.

"Seth, you're always hungry." My boy says.

"I'm still growing." My son answers. I watch my boy's real father. He's enjoying what's going on – he's enjoying being together with his son. I can't blame him for that. But I feel the day will come on which we'll all wish all this – no matter how much we enjoy this time – will never had happened.

The dinner goes joyful and when they kids are finished they disappear in the pool house and we stay with Frank Atwood.

"He hasn't eaten much…is …is it normal…I mean Ryan. He isn't eating enough for his age." Frank Atwood starts and I'm stunned to witness how carefully he must have watched his son.

"You're right. He isn't a good eater lately." My wife answers. In her look I see, she feels the same I do.

"And…he seems to be depressed. He never was much of a talker, but he neither was mute and…he used to be happier than this. Sorry, if I offend you. I'm…I'm just worried about this change in my son." And now I see in his eyes. He's concerned and he wants his son's wellbeing as much as we do.

"I can imagine. We're concerned either. We think he's still trying to handle the last months." My wife goes on.

"Of course. He had lost his Mum and his brother. I just thought…he might overcome this one day."

"How? He watched how his brother got shot in front of his eyes. He got into detention for something he hadn't done. At least he was send into a foster home for difficult kids. And all this for no reason, in my opinion. This would be even hard for us to cope with." I try to explain. I don't want him to think we're the reason for the boy's miserable state.

"And added to that his life before." My wife says.

"Was…was his life…These ten years were they that bad?" I can't answer this question, because I don't know if I want to tell him.

"Might…are you allowed to tell me…something? I only want to understand him and I guess for that I need to know what had happened in these ten years." We can't keep it back from him. My wife looks at me and I know it's my turn.

"If you promise us, not to tell him. He's already mad that we know about it." He nods and then his full attention is on me.

"His file mentions several kinds of physical abuse, negligence – the reason why he had been in a foster home for quite a while. With fourteen he had been in a four week detention, because he had stolen food. Not easy to handle for a kid in that age." I try to explain, keeping the details out. I don't think he can handle them as I see in his expression he already took it hard.

"Nobody gets a four weeks detention when you stole food." He only answers.

"If it's too often, yes." I go on.

"But…why? I mean…food? This doesn't mean…does it? This…Dawn wasn't the best mother, but she usually was able to feed the boys." I only can shrug my shoulders. For me either it's impossible that something like this can happen.

"And there's still more." My wife steps in. This was what I wanted to keep out. If he's the father he pretends to be, he won't take it good if we tell him. He looks at me and I want to keep it out. I can't. He's his father.

"His file also mentions something about…" The words don't want to slip my mouth as it is too hard to speak them. Only the words are hurting.

"It mentions something about…sexual abuse, over a quite long time. When they found out, he was nine. We don't know when it started, but they say it probably was not only one time." I watch his face. There is an anger written on it, I never have seen before.

"This explains a lot." He says and then leaves. I follow him.

"I'm sorry for telling you…" I apologize, because the pain on his face makes me feel guilty.

"I'm such an idiot. I could have protected both my boys, if I had passed the gas station this one day. It wasn't even planed. But, do you know how hard it is, if your kids can't go on any school trip? If you can't get them any presents on birthday or even Christmas? How bad you feel, when your kids go hungry to bed, although you already left out dinner only for them having something to eat? How miserable it feels, if your kids are ill and you can't get them the treatment they need, no matter in how much pain they are? You reach a point on which it becomes unbearable and then…you're ready to do everything. And…at the end I only have made it worse." He says. No, I can't imagine. Seth always had gotten what he needed, when he was ill, had been on all school trips, got everything he wished for – even when it wasn't Christmas or his Birthday – and even could choose what he wanted to eat. No, I can't imagine.


	7. My boy, my turn

_**My boy, my turn**_

**N**ow we're sitting in Dr. Kim's office. I'm a little nervous as I don't have an idea what this will lead to. Is there any opportunity to help Ryan? I know Dr. Kim is a little suspicious about my boy and I fear she now feels convinced in her prejudices. I feel a little out of place right now. His father is back and we're only his foster parents. His father should sit here now. But he had admitted that he won't be able to behave proper in this situation. As he had said: ten years jail and one had to learn to live in society from new.

"Mrs. and Mr. Cohen. I'm glad you could make it here today." Dr. Kim greets us.

"Well, as you must have noticed Ryan's achievements fell off and, in regard to his former achievements, I don't think this has something to do with any kind of incompetence."

"And that's what makes us worry about the whole situation." I say. My first fear vanished.

"In my opinion this problem is wide more complex as it seems to be. Meaning we need to find a more complex solution."

"What do you consider as complex problem?" My husband asks.

"I talked to his teachers and they told me that his grades aren't related to his decreasing efforts. He even took a lot of extra classes only to be able to keep up with the others. And then I talked to our school therapist explaining her Ryan's situation and his background – describing the last few months. And she asked whether it ever had been considered that Ryan consults a therapist." Hu? My boy is no case for a shrink. He has some - several problems. We can call it major problems, but he's not bananas.

"Not yet." My husband answers. I'm still too shocked.

"Okay, Mrs. Turner asked, whether you would like to talk to her. I'm sure she is a better expert in this and will find a solution which will help Ryan to get back to where he stood before." I look at my husband. I was certain Ryan hadn't become lazy. But I wasn't certain he was in such deep problems that he needed a therapist. If I had seen this, I already would have pulled all strings. No, wait. Therapist? Ryan? This was never going to work. Ryan didn't even talk to Marissa about everything. So how was he supposed to talk to some stranger?

"And what about his history teacher Dr. Bork?" My husband asks.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Dr. Bork is a very competent teacher and I'm glad having him here." Of course she did.

"I don't doubt that, but I can imagine that there are some conflicts between him and Ryan which I doubt are all Ryan's fault." The lawyer at my side. Yes, I'm glad he was talking. He always pronounced things in a polite version. I couldn't do so. This here was about my boy and when something is about my boys I have trouble to remain calm.

"He's new at Harbor High and I admit Dr. Bork has had some concerns about Ryan's background – as we all had, when Ryan came here. But I'm sure this has eased off, when Ryan had behaved in classes as he does in the others."

"But it doesn't seem like that, after what our son and Ryan told us." I step in. I don't want accept that it is only my boy's fault. Neither can I imagine it. He's so concerned about satisfying all others that he's forgetting himself about it.

"As I told you, Dr. Bork is a very competent teacher and I trust him." I don't do so.

"And when can we talk to Mrs. Turner?" My husband asks. He easy switches this topic? Hadn't he listened to what this woman had said to us? She said it was all Ryan's fault. And this therapist thing? I feel this all goes into a complete wrong direction.

"Immediately if you want to." Dr. Kim suggests. "Here that's the room number." She hands my husband a piece of paper with a number on it.

We're on our way to this therapist.

"Don't you think we should talk to Ryan first?" I ask my husband. He needs to see that this goes into the wrong direction.

"Kirsten, we're not making any decisions. We only talk to Mrs. Turner, see what she thinks about the situation and then we can talk to Ryan."

"I just don't think he'll take it well, when he recognizes that we had been talking to someone without speaking to him first. You know how important it is for him to decide on his own." I give my doubts space.

"You're right, but do you think he's in any state to make any decisions that are good for him?" I have no answer to that. Of course he's only sixteen years old and after all these things in his past it's understandable to be sceptical about it. On the other hand he's used to care for himself. That he sometimes does something stupid doesn't mean he's unable to take responsibility anymore.

We reach the room and my heart's beating. It feels as if my chest would burst every second. I want to help him, but if this was the right way? My maternal feelings say no. Maybe it was better if I just started to…force him to be part of the family. In my opinion it had been our fault. We have given him too much space to draw back and this was the result.

My husband knocks on the door then we step in. A corpulent woman is already waiting for us, sitting behind her desk.

"Mrs. and Mr. Cohen I guess." She says, stands up and then shakes our hand formally. She gestures us to sit down and I can say by now: bad mistake.

"You're here because of Ryan's situation, aren't you?"

"That's right." I feel attacked by this woman although she only had said less than two sentences. I don't like her and she can't help us.

"Dr. Kim already informed me, about his school achievements and about what he went through a few months ago. Just awful, poor boy. And then his background. Just to be expected that he doesn't handle things too well." She starts to judge my boy, without knowing him. I hate these people.

"We aren't sure yet. To find out, whether this is the reason or not, is why we're here." I say to stop her from her judgment.

"Oh, okay, then can you tell me something about Ryan? What kind of impression does he make? Are there any changes in his behaviour? Things like that." I can't tell her. It feels like betrayal to me if I did, without him knowing about this. I want to help him really bad, but not at any price.

"He has difficulties with sleeping. He's not eating as much as a boy in his age should. He's working hard for school, but doesn't succeed. Things like that." My husband starts and I want to tell him to shut up. But he's at a loss with his wisdom. He has a good heart and he suffers as I do by seeing our boy in such a state. But what we're doing is just not correct.

"And any other abnormalities like aggression or does he seem more often sad to you, than he used to?" She picks on.

"He can fly into rage easily, but this was the case even before all…you know what. And sad…I would better describe it as depressed as he's not the type of person for being sad." This is private so stop talking. I always thought lawyer meant being loyal towards your clients. I was mistaken, because my husband was sending our boy – my boy sending to his psychological doom.

"And this mood. Is it permanent or does it light up once in a while?" This is none of your business, bitch. Oh! I should watch my inner language. I can't approve my son and then think in these words. But this is the truth.

"It used to be a permanent state, but recently it looks as if it lights up once in a while, not for long, but it does." I want to leave this session. I can't take this conversation any longer. Does nobody notice how wrong this is?

"Do you know the reason, for this change?" I beg that he doesn't tell her, but…he's a lawyer.

"Since his father is out of jail. He starts to spend time with him and this seems to do him some good." His father? This man, after ten years? No! How could such a person be a father? This was impossible.

"Oh, do you think that his father – I mean in this state – is good company for him? I mean, of course it's important that he can build up a relationship to his real father, but in my opinion this might be a dangerous game. I don't want to hurt any feelings, but judging from what you said it's probable that his father might influence him and…well this can be some kind of bad influence, if you understand what I mean."

"No, I don't." I blow up. Of course this person can't be a father figure for Ryan. But this man really cares for his son and is prepared to do everything for his son. I doubt he could be dangerous.

"In cases like Ryan's it might be that he takes his father – who had been away for so long – as kind of ideal. And I don't think that a father, who had been in jail is the best ideal a kid in Ryan's age can have."

"Don't worry, we have control over this." I say. I can't hide my anger.

"Okay, if you say so, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. So, I have an idea what might be wrong with Ryan. Nevertheless I need to talk to him too. Let us make an appointment for today after school." Hu? And how shell I'll be able to explain him this situation carefully without pushing him away?

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" I ask.

"Unfortunately this situation is serious and we need to act as early as possible to prevent further damage. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing." I doubt that.

We leave the room and I foresee what'll happen and I can't say I'm looking forward it.

"Kirsten, what's wrong with you. This woman wants to help us and you're attacking her verbally." My husband says. That much ignorance isn't typical for him.

"I feel as if we betray him and I bet this will lead only to more disputes."

"If we want to help him we have to take our chances and make unpopular decisions." I don't think we're helping him, but I shut up. I reached a state of frustration on which I easily could run riot on my husband in front of whole Harbor High and this isn't necessary.

My son and Ryan step out of the school building. I'm nervous.

"Hey boys!" My husband greets them as if everything was fine.

"Hey! Dad, Mum? What are you doing here?" My son asks.

"We need to talk to Ryan." I say and catch a suspicious look from Ryan.

"He was with me the whole day I can testify that. He has had no time to mess up anything." My son says immediately. I admit Ryan had done him good. He had stopped only thinking about himself but started to stand in for others.

"We don't say that. It's just…we have a meeting with Mrs. Turner." My husband says.

"To Mrs. Bananas? Are you sure Ryan is the right one? Not that I want to be in Ryan's position. But Ryan definitely has lost less marbles than I did, if you understand what I mean."

"Seth, nobody says that Ryan is nuts. We only want to check out, why he fell off in quality this quarter."

"And this without asking me first. Nice." I see the anger in his eyes and my fears become true.

"Ryan this is only for your own good." My husband approves him.

"Sure." He says but he follows us in.

"Mrs. and Mr. Cohen, Ryan, nice to see you managed to come in." Mrs. Turner says.

"So Ryan. You're parents…"

"Foster parents." He's driving a new road and this road hurts. But I told my husband first and nobody listened.

"Okay, well your foster parents are worried about you, as there a problems with sleeping and eating and I want to know what you say to all this."

"When I'm not eating it probably means, I'm not hungry and when I'm not sleeping I'm not tiered. Is this a crime?" Yes, I like the way he treats this woman, although I know this is everything else than helpful in this case.

"And what about your mood? Your foster parents described you as depressed. How do you see that?"

"I'm not a born sun shine. Dunno where the problem is." The woman was making some notes.

"Ryan you need to cooperate otherwise I can't help you."

"I didn't ask you to." This is rude. I'm glad to know how he can be and that this is not his real personality – or not the one he shows me and my husband.

"No you didn't. Do you allow anyone to help you?"

"I can help myself. I'm sixteen. I don't need to be pampered." Although I really would like to do so sometimes.

"As I see we won't go far here. Okay, I give you some papers with questions. I want you to write down the answers. Can you do that for me and being honest?"

"Two things at once? I thought women were the experts in multitasking."

"Ryan, stop it!" My husband bawls him out. "We're here to solve your problems and I want you to work together with us."

"What kind of problem are you talking about?" He asks.

"School report, some bells are ringing?" I can understand that my husband is on the edge, but I don't like the way he's treating the boy. We both know that this only leads to more protest.

"One time your little toy doesn't work as you like it to and immediately there's a problem? That's ridiculous." The atmosphere is strained again and it doesn't take long until it explodes. In this I'm the expert.

"It's time that we all calm down. I think it's better if you go out and wait until I'm finished with Ryan in here." Mrs. Turner says and then we leave. We're waiting in silence. There's nothing to talk about. It's a long time, but eventually we can go back in.

"Well, I evaluated Ryan's test and his behaviour and…I'm sorry to say this, but…Ryan is suffering from a server depression which needs to be treated as soon as possible, if we want to prevent any further damage." I look at my boy and I see in his face that this is something he doesn't want to hear.

"Yeah sure, now I'm not even a violent delinquent from the wrong area. Now I'm even nuts. Gives some more stuff for Newport gossip." He says and storms out. My husband wants to follow him. I stop him. Ryan needs his space right now.

"And…how…do you treat a depression?" As I never was confronted with that, I have no idea.

"Well, I would recommend sessions at a therapist. I can give you the names of some really good ones, especially in handling kids like Ryan." Well Ryan won't like that, but honestly: I've thought about this earlier too.

"And then he should take antidepressants, as the way the depression goes is affecting his health. No sleep and no eating, you know."

"No." I say. I'm reluctant to drug only one of my boys with happy pills only for making his grades at school getting better. This goes too far.

"Okay." My husband says and I know, this time it's on me to help the boy. I don't think chemistry will help him in anyway. So, this time I have to fight for the boy.


	8. to be the father or not to be

_**To be the father or not to be**_

**O**f course I don't like the idea of pumping my boy full with drugs. But when it's helping him, why not? He's helpless and we are either. We needed a solution and when this is one, we should consider it and give it a try. I don't understand why my wife is so stern against this. She wants to help him too and now she's reluctant to give it a try? I don't understand her.

"Let us first just talk to him and see how he'll react." I say.

"Sandy, we both know how he'll react. There's nothing to talk about. I agree to the therapist, but I don't agree to drugs. That's my last word." She's stubborn as her father is. How can I explain her that this might be the last measure to help him? He's not talking to anyone, so how to help him then? I'm pretty much sure a therapist won't get him to talk either. I stop talking about this topic. I hope for the boy's understanding. He's sixteen. How should he understand?

We arrive at home. When we enter the house we hear the boys are playing some videogame.

"Hey boys!" I greet them. Ryan looks up and leaves. I feel my wife's angry glances in my back. She hates me for the way I behave towards Ryan. But the boy leaves me no other chance. He's…so damn provocative in the moment.

"What was that?" My own son asks. Ryan hasn't talked to him. If he doesn't even talk to my own son, we have enough reason to consider those drugs, because his state is getting worse from day to day.

"There's just some disagreement." My wife says and goes out to the pool house. I follow her.

"Ryan, can we talk to you please?" She says. I have trouble to understand where she gets the energy from for staying calm and patient with him.

"Everything is being said." He answers. I sigh. I already feel that this was leading to nowhere once again. I'm defeated. This boy is the first case I can't solve and I hate to admit it. I feel how anger develops in my guts. I have to stay calm, at least long enough until he gives me a reason for giving my anger space. My wife sits down on the bed next to him.

"Ryan, this was only the attempt to find a solution for your problem. Nobody wanted to offend you." She says. For him everything is some kind of offence.

"The only problem I have is that everybody keeps telling me I have one." He answers. No, he's everything else than cooperative.

"Ryan, fact is that you don't feel too well lately and we only want to help you changing this. I don't believe you like your state much." I step in, trying to hide the anger already seething in me.

"I didn't say that either." He answers bold.

"What about a deal. You go and see another therapist. You cooperate and then we can forget this day." My wife says. I don't know what this is about. Mrs. Turner had told us clear what was wrong with the boy. Nobody else could tell us something else.

"And what if the other therapist says the same?" The boy asks. It smells like rebellion again.

"Then we have to admit that Mrs. Turner was unfortunately right and try to treat your maybe-depression. But I promise you it'll be nothing decided over your head. And if there is something you don't want, we'll find an alternative. Does that sound acceptable to you?" The boy doesn't answer immediately. I lose my patience. I shouldn't, but I'm only a human being either. I don't know that I'll make it worse.

"Do you know what Ryan, if you don't let us help, then we should proceed as Mrs. Turner as said."

"What I…haven't said anything yet!"

"And that's already enough. Tomorrow you'll see a therapist and then we'll see when to start with the antidepressants. I'm fed up with this charade." I say, not thinking about the effect.

"No!" He screams. "I won't allow you to drug me, only because I don't work as you want me to."

"This has nothing to do with that!" I scream back, not paying attention to my wife.

"Fuck you." The boy says, wanting to leave. I don't like this language. Unfortunately I don't notice what's making him use it. I just don't like it.

"Watch your language!" I approve him, grabbing his arm. I just don't know what I am doing.

"Let off of me." He snarls. I don't see the panic in his eyes. I don't feel how his body tenses up. I don't realize that this must send a lot of bad memories back into his head. I just don't know that I'm making everything worse.

"You're not going anywhere." I tighten the grip around his arm. I don't figure what it means, when his body tenses up even more, making his body trembling.

"Sandy, let him go." I hear my wife say.

"He's never going to learn what responsibility means, if he always runs away."

"You're losing your composure." She says calmly and only then I see his eyes being prepared for everything. I let off of him and he runs. I don't stop him. I have failed again. I only can fail in this case. I can't solve it.

"Sandy, what's wrong with you. You never freak out. Why now?" She asks me.

"I…dunno…I'm helpless and…I can't watch him like that anymore." I admit and it hurts. There nothing more painful than being unable to help your kids.

"But if you freak out you're not helping him either. You were the one, telling me to be patient and now? We're on the right way now. We only need to be patient and wait for him to make the first step from now on."

"And when will this step be? I…don't think he realizes what's wrong with him." I say.

"He knows. He's only not used to get help." That was true. But what now?

It was already night, when we get a phone call. My heart beats faster. The boy hadn't been home yet. We have been looking for him without success. We didn't even find him at the beach.

"Hello?" I answer the phone. Angst crawls up my spine.

"_Mr. Cohen?"_ I hear a male voice speaking and my angst increases.

"Yes."

"_Good, Frank Atwood's speaking. I only wanted to tell you that Ryan is staying with me._"

"Is…is he alright?"

"_Yes, he's safe. But he said some things that made me wonder, whether you could stop by, thus we can talk._" He said firmly.

"Uh…yes. My wife and I are on our way."

We drive in silence. I don't know what to think about this. He's mad at us and then runs to his father? The first step of losing him. My bad conscience starts to interact in my brain. If I only had remained patient as my wife had. He wouldn't have run to his father. On the other hand it had been obvious from the very beginning that our boy would try to go back to his own family and I can't take it amiss. He's not our son and we – at least I – failed to build up a real relationship to him. I lost my coolness I use to have in such situations. A sad feeling spreads through my body. I don't want to lose him. He's in somehow my boy. But I – we – want his wellbeing and this will mean letting him go one day and this evening is the first step into this letting-go-direction. I stop the car in front of a huge, but rotten building. When we reach Mr. Atwood's door I look at my wife.

"We'll have to let him go, if he wants to." She says, but I hear the pain in her voice. She loves the boy, as I do. For her it would be losing her child – a second time. I ring the bell. The door opens.

"Hi…uhm…wait…I come out to you." He says hardly audible. "The boy's sleeping. I don't wanna wake him." He says and then comes out to us.

"I guess it's about…the thing with his depression." My wife starts. Mr. Atwood nods.

"I'm really grateful for how much you care about my son. And I think it was a good decision to talk to a therapist…after all he went through. And I'm sure this woman…Mrs. Turner is good at her job. So, if she thinks it might be a depression that needs to be treated, I'm the last person prohibiting it. But I would appreciate it, if you – or we – can try and find another solution first. If the sessions with the therapist can help, we – you and I – should try. But I won't allow anyone to drug my son, only because he's momentary in no position to adjust his achievements to your expectations. Don't get me wrong. I trust you, when you say you want to help him and I trust you, you won't do him any harm. But we should try other solutions first. I dunno meditation or autogenic training something like that." I never have listened to Mr. Atwood speaking so many words in a row. He stands in for his son. He cares. I'm sure, when he's settled one day, he'll take him away from us. It's only a matter of time. He starts to slip into his role as father figure and…he's good. I couldn't be better. I would have said the same, when it had been about Seth. Damn, if I hadn't been on the edge with my nerves today I probably had told this woman to fu…. I shouldn't even think in these words.

"I can understand you and my husband and I share your opinion. Only, when we heard Mrs. Turner's diagnosis we've been shocked. And honestly on first watch it seemed to us as a good solution. Ryan isn't really much of a talker. He hardly accepts help from others. He's rejecting everyone and everything and we just thought this way we could spare him some fights and disputes. But after further thinking, we came to the same solution as you did." My wife says clearing the mess I have produced.

"Oh, okay. That's good. I think it's important that we pull together on the same string, for Ryan's wellbeing. Although you might know him better than I do. I think he needs a strong hand that guides him onto the right way." I'm impressed by so much understanding. This man really knows his son only after a few days.

"But it's hard to make him see his situation and – as my wife already said – to make him accepting help. He's rejecting us and …"

"Me too." He interrupts me. What? But why did the boy run to him? He seems to trust him, doesn't he?

"I think he trusts you more than us, when he comes to you when he has problems."

"No, no. I found him straying a long the beach. He was really upset and didn't even want to talk about it to me, nor come to me. I…just used a little trick. I just switch the topic for a while, so he can calm down again and when he ended up here in my apartment I started from new. It always had worked with him. You need to be patient with him and I guess now after these ten years even more. I'm, afraid to say that, but he's very fragile." I start to be in doubt about my skills as father – as father for our boy. The thought it might be the best for him, if we let him go to his real father gets bigger and bigger and I can't deny it, but it hurts. It really hurts to know that we're losing him.

"That's true. So, I know a very good therapist. She's very understanding and I can imagine she can help us with this. I called her already and I have an appointment for tomorrow. Uhm…do you want to go?" My wife asks. Why had she made this appointment without talking to me first?

"Uh…thanks…but I …it's better if you can go, if it doesn't make any problems."

"No, this shouldn't be a problem." My wife answers. What was that? He backed down from his father role? He cared for his son that was for sure. But he's afraid of something, I can see it in his eyes and otherwise his drawback doesn't make any sense to me.

"Well, then everything's fine here. Ryan needs to be in school at eight, can you see he arrives there in time. The Dean is…" My wife starts. She wasn't thinking to leave the boy here, did she? She was enhancing the process of losing him due to this. Doesn't she realize what she's doing right now?

"I thought you take him with you again? Not that I don't want him here, but …I have no real bed yet…and…and I wouldn't allow him to stay over night somewhere else than home, due the week either." He stammers. This is strange, is it? Or did he just care? He doesn't refer to Ryan as is son, in somehow. Did he notice how much the boy means to us and just doesn't want to hurt us? Or is there some kind of tactics? Doesn't he want to take the role of a father figure? He leaves the responsibility with us. Thus he'll never get Ryan back. I start to question whether he even wants his son back.

"Oh…okay, then we take him with us." My wife answers. Mr. Atwood opens the door and she goes in. I remain in the door frame. I don't want my boy to freak when he sees me, because this time – again – it's my fault. The relationship – if we can consider it as one – is strained.

"Hey, sweetie." My wife says when she leans over him. "Let's get you home." Mr. Atwood stays in the background, not even bothering that a stranger behaves like a mother towards his son.

"Tiered." I hear the boy mumble.

"I can imagine and I really feel bad to wake you."

"First time since months." He mumbles and then turns around again.

"I know honey, you can sleep on soon."

"Be glad I'm gone." He says.

"Is…he drunk?" My wife asks Mr. Atwood.

"I…I swear…I …I found him in this state." He stammers. Right from where we started from, only worse.

"No, honey. We're not. Just come back with us."

"Just a fucking, bloody pain in your ass. Be glad I left." With every single word I feel how pieces break out of my heart. And then I watch his father. He only stays there. He's helpless. He has no clue how to handle this situation. He had underestimated the damaged been done to his son. That's why he leaves the responsibility with us, right?

"Stop talking like that." My wife admonished him.

"Leave me alone." He slurs.

"No!" My wife snaps back.

"Just accept that I'm not the nice little toy that functions like your nice little community wants me to. And I'm not going to let them drug me only to do so." Drunk, but able to pronounce so many words. But hell, what have we to do else, until he realizes that this is wrong! He's no toy. He's our boy.

"Ryan…listen, it's really better if you go with them. I have no real bed here and…your home is with them." Mr. Atwood steps in. Ryan gets up.

"You kick me out? You're just the same dumb ass as the rest." Ryan says. He can be so brutal only with his words. Unfortunately these words are the mirror to his soul. This is how he feels. And exactly this is his problem.

"Ryan, I'm not kicking you out."

"Fuck you." He mumbles and stumbles into my direction. I manage to catch him in time, before he falls.

"C'mon kid, let's get you back to your own bed." I say.


	9. Hangover, Girlfriend, History Teacher

_**Hangover, Girlfriend and History Teacher**_

**M**y head is killing me. In math I make a mental note: no drinking due the week. Shit. Few months ago, I wouldn't even have noticed I have been drinking at night. But today?

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" She asks me at lunch. I'm not really hungry, but I avoid Seth, so he won't find out about my show last night. I won't be able to cope with his wise advices. Not today. Unfortunately my drinking last night only had led to a lot of puking, but no black out. I need to apologize for my…no idea what it had been, but it doesn't deserve to be considered as behaviour. It's so embarrassing.

"Hangover." I say honestly. If I said headache and nauseas she would start asking bothering questions, which would lead to the same answer anyway. So I just spit it out. Saves me a lot of headache increasing words.

"What? Don't tell me you have…"

"Yes I have." I cut her off. Her voice isn't really helpful with my headache right now – way too pitched.

"Damn it Ryan!" She shouts into my face. Did I think about how she might react? No I didn't. I definitely should have.

"You can't always get wankered, instead of facing a conflict." Why was she looking through me? I don't like it, if people do that.

"I know." I admit, hoping to satisfy her with this answer and make her stop screaming into my already shrilling ear.

"You're an asshole do you know that?" Huh? Nice. This is what I want to hear. Very charming. Not only that I got to know that I'm a nut case. No, now my girlfriend calls me an asshole.

"Do you notice how much you hurt the Cohens with your behaviour? They're fighting so hard for you. They would do everything for you to make you feel better – more accepted and less depressed. Maybe it's time to give them a chance." My conscience is talking. Yes I know I screwed up again. A leopard cannot change its spots. It's not as if I didn't try to. I just fail. And this makes me angry again. I can't do anything right. I'm just some fucking scum who intruded this community. Hell, I really should reconsider my permanent stay here.

"Ryan, look at me. Why don't you understand that they only want to help you to cope?" She pronounces her first sentence again.

"Nice, hooking me on drugs, so that their project from Chino-scum into straight A student works out." It slips out. I haven't thought about what I was saying, but yes I'm a stupid dumb ass. I can't change who I am or what I am and I'm tired of trying so.

"What are you talking about?"

"They dragged me to Mrs. Turner and she came to the conclusion I'm depressive and need some of these funny happy pills." Shit. Seth has had quite too much influence on me. I never was sarcastic. I hated sarcasm. But now I even start to think sarcastic.

"Oh…this is hard. And when they told you, you freaked out?" I only nod. I already see the lesson coming.

"And you didn't bother to call me or come by? I'm your girlfriend. I'm there to listen to you or better talk to you, as you don't talk much."

"How? Yesterday was your meeting for the trip to France. I…I didn't want to disturb you. You're so looking forward to it. I didn't want to destroy your happiness about it." I don't want to bother her with my trivialities. Well, okay I'm even more concerned to take her down with me. She doesn't deserve it. Another mental note: I should reconsider my relationship to her. When she means something to me it probably will be better if I leave her. Another mental note: I can't.

"But this isn't more important than you!" Now she's angry with me and I can't see how to calm her down again. It's like I can say what I want to. I mess it up anyway.

"Yes it is! Damn, you aren't talking about anything else for weeks. Don't you think I noticed what huge enthusiasm is behind all this? France is your dream and you should live it."

"You know what? You really have a big problem. No other person would say about himself being less important than a fucking school trip." She gets up and wants to leave. What the heck have I done this time?

"Marissa, wait…" I catch up with her. "Why are you angry now?"

"Because you're still not talking to me…I have the feeling as if our relationship has stopped somewhere. A relationship needs to develop. But…you still don't trust me, you still don't talk to me, you still behave like this Chino-boy." Hu? What was that?

"First of all, I tried to explain you what this talking- thing is for me. And what do you mean by Chino-boy? At least I'm from there, so sorry that I didn't grow up under the same influence as you did, but unfortunately it's not as easy to overcome this, as you think!" Now I'm angry. She reproached me for being from Chino. As if this was my fault. I can't change the fact that I'm a fucking Chino-boy. I wished it was a little different. But that's it and she has to accept it.

"And you should accept that your Chino-life is over." There is something true about it. But hell, if it was that easy I wouldn't have to struggle that hard to…to to what? I don't know what. I only see how she walks away. I need to change something and…technically I know how, but…shit. I'm screwed and this fact becomes clearer to me from day to day.

I arrive at home – alone, because Seth is out with Summer. Like Siamese twins. I see the Ranger Rover is standing in the driveway. Kirsten is home. I'm afraid to face her after what I've done last night. But there's no way out. I doubt they still believe in all my sorrys. I really, really mean them. But if I did, I should be able to change my behaviour. But I'm not. Shit. Why do things here have to be so fucking complicated? I had a quiet life in Chino and here, everything is trouble. Not that Chino didn't mean trouble too. But the trouble here was in somehow different, just more difficult to solve. I open the door. The smell of tea tells me Kirsten's in the kitchen. I slow down. I try to think what to tell her. A simple sorry isn't enough this time. Truth, honest. But that's not easy.

"Hey Ryan." She greets me. My heart sinks into the bottom of my pants because of guilt.

"Hi." I only answer. I can't look at her. Not after my show last night. I feel the urge just to disappear in the pool house, but this would be…wrong.

"Uhm…Kirsten…" She looks at me and I regret my decision to talk. "I…just wanted to apologize…for…you know last night. This was just…more than wrong and out of place. It's just…I dunno. It was wrong." I stammer.

"It's okay. It had been a little bit shocking what Mrs. Turner had said yesterday and the thought of antidepressants is not really comforting. But we need to find a solution. It can't go on like that. You need to talk to us – about everything." Deep down I know that. I only don't want to admit it.

"But…you know this talking-thing is not my favourite hobby."

"I know and we don't do this to harm you. We worry about you. Your father worries about you and don't try to tell me you feel well. This talking-thing is helping you to cope with what had happened to you." How? It's just words and words can't do anything despite sound good and look good on a cheat of paper.

"Kirsten, talking can't make the last few months undone."

"No, but when they're said they're not on your mind anymore. Despite they help to find what the real problem is and how to solve it, hopefully without happy pills." At least we agree to one point in this topic.

"You're still not convinced, hu? What about a deal: You start to trust me – only a little more. You don't need to tell me everything. We can start slow. And I trust you and allow that Marissa can stay over night." Yes, there was something I have forgotten about: I and Marissa were in some kind of dispute.

"What's wrong Ryan? Don't tell me you two…"

"We had a little argument today." I admit, fast and painless.

"Oh, but that happens. A good relationship needs to grow – to develop. Arguments belong to that." Who has said this sentence already once this day? I can't remember.

I didn't argue about Kirsten's attempt to make me feel better, although I don't see that I feel bad at all. It's just not always sun shine the whole day. I only had one chance to make it better: I have to change my behaviour, no matter how hard it is. I have to pull myself together.

I'm sitting on my bed, doing my homework. Hell, I never thought that history was that difficult. I'm even too dumb to write down the right date for the right event. I'm frustrated. I feel the urge to throw the book through the pool house. Unfortunately it more consists of windows and they are much too breakable. Thus I ball up one paper after another and throw it in the direction of my waste paper basket. Not that I hit them into it. They neatly land beside or behind it.

"Hey, still homework?" It's Kirsten. She comes in with two mugs. She sits down on the bed, handing me one of them.

"Thanks." I say.

"History?" She asks me, when she takes the book and thumbs through it.

"What's about your History teacher?" She asks me on. I don't want to tell her about it. This is my business and I have to cope with it. I messed it up and I have to make things right again.

"Nothing, just not my favourite class." I answer. It's no lie. I don't like those classes in which I have to work a lot with words. I don't like words much.

"Seth told me that the teacher hates you. Can you tell me why?" She asks on. I only shrug my shoulders. She has enough on her mind with her own job. I don't want to bother her with my little school-problems. But we had a deal. So the question was: how to stick to the deal without bothering her?

"Can you at least tell me how he shows that?" She asks on. Why does she bother? I can deal with it on my own. She shouldn't bother with my problems at all. I do the best to be as less a burden as possible and she's crossing my plans with all her questions.

"Ryan, I'm asking you something and I expect an answer." Now she sounds a little angry and I guess, I should answer, after my…last night and our deal. She seems to take it really serious.

"I chose History classes, as I need to balance my schedule. Only natural sciences aren't allowed and I would never be able to catch up all those years French I've missed. When Bork came in and called up all names on his list I noticed mine wasn't called up. I asked him about it and he told me, if my name wasn't on his list, I wasn't allowed to attend his class and he threw me out." I explain her.

"Did you talk to Mrs. Fisher?"

"Yes and she said she had enrolled me for this class. She talked to him and then I was allowed to attend History classes."

"And that's all? There was nothing else? What did he say, when you attended his class?" She looks at me. Her eyes are serious and I can't answer her look and just focus the comforter of the bed.

"Ryan?" She always detects me, when I try to just leave things out.

"He told me that he's no fan from mixing up social classes and I shouldn't expect a social service." I say it fast, hoping she won't make a deal out of it.

"He didn't say that, did he?" She calls out. I only nod.

"Well then I need to talk to Dr. Kim again." Okay, she's making a big deal out of it.

"No, don'…" I want to stop her, but she has this expression on her face telling me: no opposition.

"Ryan, what your teacher said was wrong. He had no right to say something like that." She wants me to answer something, but I don't know what, thus I only shrug my shoulders. It only had been words and they didn't even hurt me. I have had to bear a lot more and worse things than this statement.

"And then I want to talk to you about your daily routine. I don't think it's helpful if you spend the whole day with studying." I don't understand what she means. Isn't it obvious that I need to do even more only to…catch up, to be back where I have been before?

"Don't look at me like that. The first quarter you didn't learn that hard. I think you're overdoing it."

"Kirsten, I have to." I try to explain her.

"Why? Give me one plausible reason?"

"You have seen it or not?" I only answer. I don't understand what she's doing and I don't understand why she's still bothering. School is my responsibility, not hers.

"I think you do all this to hide from…what had happened." I roll my eyes. How does she want to know?

"Your flurry, not sleeping, not eating. This all shows me that you didn't settle yet, even after so many months. You didn't arrive here, what means you're still stuck somewhere between today and your past and we need to change that." I'm stunned. I thought she was an architect and no…shrink.

"Don't look that way you are. I talked to some people and read some articles. I know what I'm doing. And because I know you would run if I'd come you with a therapist I try it myself. But you have to cooperate. Because if I realize I fail, I have to send you to a shrink. Okay?" Why is she doing all this? She had enough work to do. My head is too slow to understand any action going on in this household. This is definitely the wrong place for me.

"What means: you come home with Seth after school. You two hang out together or with friends and then you do your homework. You don't have to do them in the same room. I only want you to have the same routine you had, when you first came here. Understood?" I only nod.

"And before getting to bed, you drink this tea and read something before switching your light off. You need to get your mind free from bothering thoughts. Otherwise it's no wonder that you can't sleep." I only nod.

"Could you talk to me, to show me you have been listening?" She asks.

"I listened. Not much learning, more friends. I got it."

"Ryan, this is no punishment or anything like that. I only want to help you."

"But you have enough to do with your job." It slips out of my mouth. Shit, shit, shit. Why did I say that? This isn't going to make a good impression. Since when wasn't I able to hold back my thoughts? Since Kirsten starts to…give me some kind of warm feeling. And I swear I have no idea what this is supposed to mean.

"Ryan, stop talking as if you was just some kind of bothering project. I care, I really do – we really care. And I want you to accept it, because I'm not going to change this. Understood?" I only nod.

"That's good and now drink your tea before it's getting cold."


	10. He's my son

_**He's my son**_

**I**'m surprised Ryan cooperated that well. He didn't argue about my suggestions and already tries to implement them. I'm glad about his reaction, as it saves us a lot more arguments.

The first part of the day was managed. I talked to Dr. Kim about Ryan's schedule change – that he won't any longer take all those supporting curses - and I take care he doesn't learn too much. I enjoy watching him being a normal teenager again. Ryan doesn't like to be mothered. But I want him to feel better again. I want him back again. Thus I go to the pool house, seeing whether he's ready for bed and not learning – a mug of tea in my hand, which should make him relax a little. I open the door and there he sits on his bed, open book and writing. I put the mug down on a nightstand.

"I thought there was a deal about this." I say.

"Yeah…I just need to get this finished. Math is really killing me this semester…as last one." When he's speaking his voice becomes lower and lower with every word.

"Since when is Math a problem?" I wonder. He used to be very good at it. He only shrugs his shoulders.

"C'mon, put it away and get ready for bed. It's nearly eleven. You need your sleep." He rolls his eyes and sighs. I look at him and he puts his book away and heads for the bathroom. While he's gone, I make the bed ready for him. I sometimes wonder if his mother ever had done something like this for him. Had she cared? I don't know. We don't know a lot about his past, as he never talks about it. It feels as if he has no past, at least none he'll share with us. He comes out of the bathroom – white t-shirt and sweatpants.

"So, what do you read tonight?" I ask him. I want him to stick to the plan and I'll make him if I have to.

"Uh…nothing…I…I don' read…before…you know switching the lights off." He says. Again the phenomenon: getting more and more silent with every spoken word. Why can't he act as easy around us, as he can act around his father?

"Why not?" I ask him. I want to get him to know better. I know he doesn't want to lie to us, but be honest, thus I decide it's time for the rough direct questions. No beating around the bush.

"Can't sleep then…it's like…when I start a book I can't stop until it's finished." He whispers the last words and blushes. I can't see any reason for embarrassment. But he didn't grow up with us. Who knew what sixteen years in a place like Chino had taught him? I only can say it's nothing good, when he blushes by admitting that he likes reading.

"Oh, I know that. It's the same with me. Well, you're right that's not really helpful then. Do you know what I do, when I can't sleep?" I ask him. I want him feel familiar around me. He shrugs his shoulders.

"I do these japans puzzle Sudoku. Do you know them?" He shakes his head. Why can't he talk to me like Seth is talking to me? I want him to act around me like he was my son. He is my boy and I feel for him as I he was my son. He only doesn't see that. He doesn't feel the same about us, as we do about him. Or does he? It's so hard to read him. He's always shy, always distanced, never demanding, never taking too much attention.

"We need to change that." I say and go out, to get my puzzle book. I reached a point on which I have to act offensive if I want to be close to him. Maybe he needs to be forced to be social with us – to be a family with us.

"Here I am." I come back and sit down on the bed next to him. "Do you know how this works?"

"No…sorry." And always his apologizes. I'm waiting for the day he's apologizing for his existence. But as I see him, he does everyday, only not aloud.

"Okay, we have nine squares with nine fields. You have to fill into every field the numbers one to nine. You don't have the same number twice in one square as well as in one line." I watch him. He's listening carefully.

"Understood?" I ask.

"Dunno." He says.

"Well, then let's try together." I say and hand him a pen. I place the book between us. He's looking at the page. I don't believe he didn't understand. He's just to shy. Thus it's on me to make a start.

"Look, here we have a five, because it's the only field where it fits in." I write it into the field. Ryan's watching me.

"And here we also can fill in the five. See, it's very easy." I try to encourage him. I lose hope he might turn in.

"Maybe…the six there?" He asks shyly. I'm glad he starts to participate.

"Yes, that's good." And thus we start to work together. He shyly fills the numbers in and I'm doing the main work. But who knows? Maybe in a few weeks he feels a little more comfortable. But there was something else. Ryan was concentrating on something different. He was thinking. That was the only thing I can make out of his expression: when he was thinking.

"What's up your mind?" I ask him, not expecting an answer.

"Just thinking about…my Mum." He says, shyly. I'm stunned to get an answer and I'm afraid of the guilt in his voice. Sometimes I think that's why he isn't talking a lot. Because you can hear what he feels when he's talking.

"Miss her?" I ask. He needs to know that it was okay, when he thought of her or of his brother. It was okay that he missed his family – his biological. We can't replace that. We only can be a different family for him, but we can be one. He only needs to accept.

"Actually I…I don't know."

"Why?"

"It…She wasn't like you. She didn't care when I couldn't sleep or didn't feel well. She pretty much only cared about herself. I can imagine how this might sound to you, but it wasn't that bad. It just…was different. I had a different routine then." He says. I never thought he would open up to me. But he does. I glimpse of hope arises in me as I think he starts to trust us. This day had brought him far in my opinion.

"Would you like to tell me about your routine?" I'm interested. I need to know my boy – wanted son. Sandy had said we need to know what was in his file to be able to cope with him. I think this is just one part of a few more. We have to know his feelings to know how to handle him and this file can't offer us that.

"Just different. I got up at five thirty and decided whether to school or looking for a job. The past few years I decided more for the job than for school. Then, dunno…just you know took a shower, looked whether there was something else in the fridge beside my Mum's booze and then left. When I came home it was often six in the evening and then I just cleaned up the kitchen, did the laundry things like that. Mum often was already pretty drunk then. Then I met with friends, did some homework or had a job. I used to come home pretty late, finding my Mum passed out on the couch in front of the TV. So it was me who had to bring her to bed." Wow, I guess he never had spoken so many words in a row to me.

"Did you like it?" I can't imagine a boy his age and even younger did. This was a mother's job.

"I guess. I mean I wouldn't have done all this if I haven't, or?" I'm not sure about that. As I see him, he pretty much would do everything for those who mean something to him.

"Tell me? I wouldn't have liked it. But I grew up different, so…you're right for me this rather sounds like child's labour than a nice daily routine." I admit. He's honest to me, so I own him my honest answers.

"Had no choice then. I…just don't want to imagine what had happened, if I hadn't done so." And that's what frightens me. He's only sixteen years old and used to carry so much responsibility on his shoulders.

"No, but here things a different. You know that. You really can leave things like that with the adults – meaning Sandy and me. You don't have to be the parent anymore." I try to explain him that this time had changed and that this might be a good change.

"It's hard to break with all these habits."

"Nobody expects it to be easy. But you have to give it a chance – to give us a chance." I watch his face. He gives me a lopsided smile.

"We only want to help you to get settled. But this doesn't work if you're pushing us away by every attempt." I say.

"Know. Guess I just need to learn getting help." He says. My heart clenches. This statement gives me a big view into his life back in Chino. Nobody should have to learn how to let others help him – especially no kid.

"Talking is enough. Just let us know when something is bothering you. That's what we're there for. And when I say it, I mean it."

"You won't say it then." This sentence forces me to a smile. He had understood me. At least something.

"Right. And now get some sleep." I say and get up. He carefully curls together and I put the blanket over him. I stroke through his hair and I feel how he tenses up immediately.

"Sorry." He whispers.

"It's okay. It'll get better. Step by step and you'll see, soon things will be better." I say and then leave him. I have gained new hope. This evening, together with him, had shown me that he's willing to let us. He just can't.

The next evening I come back my puzzle-book. Ryan again is busy with his homework. He looks up at me.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. Have you taken a look onto the watch?" I ask him.

"Yeah, sorry. Just this line, okay?"

"But only this one." I determine. He finishes it and then disappears into the bathroom. I again make his bed and then wait for him.

"Have you slept at least a little better last night?" I ask him.

"No…sorry."

"Don't be sorry for that, it's not your fault. Nightmares?" I ask. He nods. He comes and sits down on the bed. He looks thin. He definitely has lost weight.

"Always the same?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"There are a lot. Every night another one. They rarely repeat each other." He says. He worries me. He's so indifferent about that. He should be more concerned about himself. Instead he's more concerned about everyone else.

"Okay, then let's have a look whether you improved." I say encouraging. I have to hide my worry. Because if he figures out I'm worried, he immediately would draw back again. He doesn't want to bother us. It's again me who does the main part of the Sudoku. He's too shy to say anything, although I see he could do more than he shows me.

"Are…are you doing this with Seth too?" He asks me, when we're finished.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Uh…just…I…I don't want him to be annoyed only because…you're spending so much time with me." What? Half an hour is much time? I realize more and more what the boy had been missing and that he must have been pretty much alone. This hurts me. I can't imagine letting him alone.

"Don't worry about that. I spend so much time with him, despite he knows he only has to ask and I'm there for him. I more worried about whether I spend enough time with you." I answer him.

"Oh…no, I'm okay. I just thought…Seth…is your son…so…" Again his words get drowned in a whisper.

"As you are." I answer him. He doesn't look at me. No matter how often I tell him, I have the feeling as if he doesn't believe me.

"Did you sort things out between you and Marissa?" I change the topic. I see the discomfort in his eyes and with Marissa I always move on safe ice.

"Uh…no…unfortunately. She didn't want to talk to me and…uh…now she's probably too busy with her preparation for her trip to France." Oh. I never thought that I'll drop a brick with this topic. I only hope this doesn't throw him off track.

"France?"

"Yepp, school trip. Six weeks. Really bad." He admits.

"I hope you declared your love to her because France – especially Paris – is known as the place of great love."

""I don't think I want to know that." He answers and I have to laugh. He had learned sarcasm quite fast.

"I'm sure things will be okay again, before she leaves for France."

"Hope so."

"And now it's time to sleep." I say and get up. He again curls into a tiny little ball. I can't imagine that this position is comfortable for sleeping. I tuck him in and then stroke through his hair. He again tenses up. But he doesn't flinch at my touch and that's enough to me.

"You're playing a dangerous game." My husband says when I go to bed and lay down next to him.

"What do you mean?"

"The bonding you start to build between yourself and the boy. We both know when his father has fixed his life, we'll lose him." He reminds my. No, I don't want to be reminded of the fact that I'll lose one of my babies.

"We should have adopted him." I say and that's really what I'm thinking now. If we had, his father won't be able to take him away from us that easily. But we haven't. We're only a kind of surrogate-parents and I hate this feeling.

"And then we would have to deal with a drop-dead-sad teenager who wants to live with his father, but can't. Kirsten his father is his last family. It's the best for him and I'm sure we'll stay in close touch with him. He and Seth are so close friends I can imagine that the only difference will be that he'll sleep somewhere else." He wants to tell me that it won't be that bad. But it will be.

"And this is a huge difference. Sandy, it's…I start to build up a relationship to him. He trusts me and tells me things he wouldn't have talked about to any of us only a few weeks ago. I don't know if you can understand how I feel. But he became my son." I try to explain him.

"My too and that's why it is even hard to me to think about it. I don't want to tell you to keep away from him. I only want you to consider that he'll leave us. I don't want you getting hurt too badly through his loss. So I think it's better if you just back off a little." He says.

"What? Have you thought about how he might feel about that? First I try to build up a relationship and then I start to reject him?"

"I didn't say you should reject him I only…"

"Sandy, stop it. I can't treat him against my feelings. He's my son and I want him to know that." I say and the topic is finished in my opinion.


	11. Just a toy

_**Just a toy**_

**I** feel his hands. They hurt me. I don't care. I'm used to pain. But then his hands soften and he only touches me. I know this is a nightmare about something I only want to forget. I only don't wake up. I feel his hands everywhere – everywhere where they don't belong to. I need to wake up, please let me wake up. I can't bear this. Please wake me up. Again I feel his strong hand on my shoulder. No! I open my eyes. I made it. I escaped. My breath goes fast. My heart beats like after a marathon. My vision clears and I see Sandy standing above me.

"Nightmare?" He asks. I only nod. A nightmare in the afternoon. What a screwed up am I?

"Okay, sorry to wake you." He says. I see his concern in his face. It's the same as everyday. No matter who is looking at me: Kirsten, Seth or Sandy. All look at me as if I'm damned to drop dead.

"It's okay. Thanks." I only say.

"Everything okay?"

"I'm fine." I can't hear this question anymore. Can't they just accept that I'm not one of these super happy kids running around in Newport? My clock says it's already late. Too late. Shit. I jump up from bed and put on my shoes.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"I wanted to meet my Dad and I'm quite late." I admit. I storm out of the pool house. I hate it to be late.

"Bye!" I call back to Sandy and then speed up. Why in hell is everybody concerned about my wellbeing? I'm fine – as always. I know I'm not. I'm a train wreck emotionally. I'm a mess. I only don't want admit it. I only want to forget all. A little hard with all these nightmares and thoughts in my head. But that's it. I want to leave this life behind. Now my Dad's back. I'm not in Chino anymore. I can start a new life. But as Kirsten said: I need to settle. My past again is putting obstacles in my way. I hate it. Why can't my past just vanish? Because it's a part from me and if I want to get rid of it I have to get rid of myself. Fucked up situation. I hope this will change one day. Maybe one day my life calms down a bit and I can relax from all this. I arrive at the pier. My Dad is already sitting on a bench. It's my favourite place here. You can watch the horizon and the ocean. It's reassuring, as if things weren't as bad as they really are – as if I'm a part from here.

"Hey." He says. He looks sad. I figure there's something cooking.

"Hey, what's the reason for this mysterious meeting?" I ask him and sit down next to him.

"Can't I want to meet my boy?" He asked. But I see he's only trying to avoid the real point why he had wanted to see me.

"Dad, don't even try to play me for a sucker. I lived long enough together with Mum and her boyfriends to smell there's something wrong ten miles against the wind." I tell him. He still thinks I'm the six years old boy he had left the one day. But I'm not. From the second he had left I grew up to and adult. There was nobody anymore treating me like the child I had been. I had to start to cope with Mum's drinking, with Trey's outbursts and these numerous boyfriends – always on my own.

"Too much of a parent already, hu?" He asks. This question reminds me too much of Sandy. They have a lot in common anyway. Why? They can't be more different but in somehow both act similar around me. I can't get my head around it. But that's nothing new to me. I even still can't get my head around why the Cohens took me in and try to treat me …like their own son. But hell, I don't need to know everything, right?

"So, what's up?" I hate to wait for an answer.

"I have a job." He says.

"That's great. I mean now you can start to fix your life again." I answer. I know that ten years in lock up is making you unable to survive in society afterwards. It's just like two worlds collide. One just can't cope with his new won freedom. At least that's what my Dad says. And well even after my few weeks juvies I had little trouble to adjust to freedom again.

"Yes, that's true."

"And what kind of job is it?" I only want to be sure he doesn't reoffend.

"Well, that's a little complicated." He starts and I know I won't like what he has to say to me.

"I'm back in the Army."

"What?" This is even worse than reoffend. I had to cope with that once. I don't need it again.

"Yes."

"Do you…do you have to go back into…one of these trouble areas?" If yes, I know it'll destroy him. When he came back from his first war, he wasn't himself anymore. He had changed and I don't think I had liked his new character.

"Iraq." Fuck.

"You know what happened the first time."

"Yes, but I need to do this. I…need some order in my life and the Army can give it back to me. You know how strict rules are and I have to follow them. It'll keep me on the legal road."

"You're such an asshole, do you know that?" I'm angry. When he came back, Mum was only crying and started drinking. He hadn't been able to work in a real job. He came back as a wrack. And then he…ended up in jail.

"Ryan, you have to understand me."

"No! It had destroyed our family and you know that. You've been a psychological wreck when you came back. Not telling anyone what had happened, what you've seen there. You and Mum started non-stop-fighting. She started to drink and you started to…commit crimes. So don't tell me there's anything good and helpful at all!" I scream into his face. I hope he only had forgotten what this war-thing had done to our family. I hope now he would understand that this doesn't make any sense that he decides against it. But how was one able to forget something like that?

"I know Ryan. But this time will be different. I know what's coming up to me. And when I come back, I promise I tell you when something had happened. I…won't act like I did the first time."

"Sure. And what if you never come back again?"

"That… won't happen."

"You can't promise that!" I'm in black rage. He's back only for a few weeks and now he had decided to piss off again.

"Ryan I need to do this. I need it, for myself."

"You, you, you! Did you ever notice that it's always about you? Did you ever think of one of us?" I have to fight holding back my tears. And I thought my life was going to calm down again.

"You're destroying everything. I…I mean how am I supposed to have a calm minute, when I can't be sure, if I ever see you again?"

"Ryan…"

"Don't expect I'm supporting you and don't expect I'm going to pick up the pieces again when you come back. I left this behind and I'm not going to live through it once again." I say and then run. I can't stand to be near to him anymore. He disappointed me. My hopes? Just broke into millions of tiny little pieces. Why did he come back anyway? Only to tell me that he'll leave me again? I don't want to know that. I don't want to know that he enters a suicide mission. Fuck! I wish he never had come back. I wish he had stayed out of my life. My emotions are one fucking rollercoaster and I have no idea to control any of them. Did I really thought he had come back to live with me? Did I really thought he come back, because he cared? No I couldn't have been serious, when I thought that. And I thought we were going to start a new – the rest of our remaining family. I must have become sentimental when I really thought something like that would happen.

I don't know what to do right now. I…don't know where to go. I feel lost. Fucking lost. He's leaving me. Not even caring how I feel about that. Who the fuck ever cared about me? Nobody, right. They only pretend to, so you do as they're pleased. But when they have enough, they leave you standing in the rain, no matter how bad it pours down on you. This had been another of those lessons, teaching me that at the end it would only be me – alone. He knows how hard it is for me living here. He knows that I wanted to stay with him. He knows that. He knows all of that!

"Hey Ryan, what are you doing here?" I hear a female voice. I never thought I would listen to it again.

"Just nothing." I answer her. I'm not in any mood to talk to her now - especially not after she didn't even answer one of my calls or e-mails.

"Doesn't look like nothing." She replies.

"Since when are you talking to me anyway?" I snap at her. I know I shouldn't use her to let off of steam. But hell, with her penetrative behaviour she's asking for it.

"Sorry, that wasn't fair. I…should have let you explain yourself. I only was angry about your lack of self-esteem. I thought you knew that I care about you, any time." She starts again. I don't get the point of what she's talking about. I'm only pissed off and frustrated.

"Yeah, as long as you're interested and when you meet someone new in France, it's me on my own again. Thanks." It's not her fault that I feel like that. I only know it that way and my father had proven it to me once again. I only can act the way I was taught. That's it.

"Ryan, what the fuck are you talking about? What's wrong?"

"Just leave me alone." I say and pass by. I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to talk to anyone. I'm just a kind of thing. They use me. They use me as punching bag. They use me to satisfy their sick dreams. They use me to feel better. They use me to show the others how good they are. They only use me. Nobody really seems to care. And I can't blame them. I'm a hackneyed, battered and broken toy. Nobody cares about broken things. And again there's the pain in my chest making me want to cry out all the pain and emotions out. But I can't. I should disappear. Unfortunately there's no recycling mechanism that could rearrange me. I have to live with me for the rest of my pathetic life. I don't want to. I want to get rid of all these memories. I want to get rid of all these scars, punches, kicks and touches. I want to get rid of all these words. And I feel as if I'm close to break down, but I can't. I'm the only one who can protect me from getting used.

I feel some kind of strange warmth spreading through my body and I start to relax. The shakes get less. I have to fight these emotions and memories. But with every passing day it's getting harder. What do they say? I shell talk about it? Nobody can tell me he wants to listen to it. In this ideal world, without problems and conflicts, something like me is an intruder. I have to keep the abuse and insults hidden to not disturb their peace. I mean I shell talk:

"Hey, my Mum's boyfriends not only used to beat the shit out of me. They even liked to fuck me like animals!" I scream. I don't know into which direction I shout it, as my surrounding is already spinning and one blur. And honestly, I have no clue where I am. I only now I left her at the beach and ran. To where? No idea. What I've been doing? No idea. Where I am now? Fuck off. I start to feel hands on my body. This only can mean I'm again caught in a nightmare. Or reality? My nightmares had been all reality once, thus I can't tell. I fight the hands. I hear voices, telling me everything's fine and I should hold still.

"That's what they all say." I can pronounce. I'm not going to make it easy for them. If they want to use me, they have to pay a fee for it – fight. Again a voice tells me everything's okay.

"As long as I don't tell anyone." That's how it works. Don't dare to tell anyone, because then you're dead. I feel hands stripping down my pants.

"No!" I scream. I don't want this.

"Beat the shit out of me, but my ass belongs to me." That's all I can think about. I don't want to go through this again. It hurts and I still wasn't able to wash up the dirt from the former times they used me that way. I'm too weak to fight back anymore and where had been lights is only darkness left. I pass out. Better that way, because I don't want to witness, what they're doing to me.


	12. Pick up the pieces

_**Pick up the pieces**_

"**D**on't you think it's better if we'd take him to the hospital?" My wife asks me, after we managed to get Ryan to bed. He never had fought us that badly. He had kicked and screamed things at us I never want to have to listen to again.

"He's fine Kirsten." We both know he's far from fine. We had to deal several times with a drunken Ryan, but he never before had reacted like a wounded animal.

"Sandy, the whole bottle was empty. I only want to be sure he hasn't inflicted an alcoholic intoxication to himself." My wife says. Her worry is written all over her face.

"If he had, he wouldn't have been semi conscious. He's okay." He's not. He's awfully hurt, and I can't help him – we can't help him.

"What happened to him?" My wife asks me and I shrug my shoulders, but I have a slight idea who's responsible for this mess. I go and get the phone, but then the door-bell rings and I have to open the door.

"Exactly the man, I want to talk to." I say, when Mr. Atwood is standing on my doorstep.

"Hi, I…I wanted to ask, whether Ryan is with you? I need to talk to him." He looked stressed.

"Yes he is, but he's in no current state to talk to anyone." I say cold. I have the feeling as if Ryan's outburst is referred to his father.

"He doesn't want to talk to me?"

"I don't know whether he wants to or not. He's too drunk to pronounce his wish." I answer.

"I should have known this throws him into a downward spiral." He says.

"Would you like to explain what you're talking about?" I ask him and let him in. We enter the kitchen. My wife anxious watches the pool house. She can't cope with the situation. She can't handle what Ryan had said, although she knows it's the truth. Maybe this is the reason why she can't cope with it.

"The only thing we know is that he wanted to meet you and when he didn't come back, we went out to look for him. We found him drunk at the beach, once again. What means there must have happened something between you and him." I make my position clear. He should not even start to lie to us.

"I…I should have known that he doesn't take it well, when I tell him." He starts.

"What didn't he take well?" My wife asks.

"I…I told him about me job…at the Army. I…I told him that I'm based in Iraq." I'm stunned.

"He's a kid. Of course he's not taking it well, when his father goes to war." My wife states. In her voice I can hear her discomposure. I don't feel well at this idea. What if something happens? The boy never will be able to cope with the loss of his last family member – not now.

"Of course not…it's…not the first time I go and…the first time when I came back…I was really messed up…I…I didn't figure that he already then noticed that…that this had been the reason… for…for a lot…maybe all our problems." Now I understand. The boy had once watched how war destroyed his family and he's afraid of that happen again.

"He's a smart boy." I answer.

"A little too smart." He answers. I sigh. How are we able to fix this again? I have no answer to this question.

"You mess it up and my husband and I can pick up the pieces. Very friendly." My wife snaps and then leaves us. I can understand her. She's so busy with helping Ryan. Every step he makes forward is one more reason for her to smile a day. And now this might have destroyed all progress the boy had made – progress he needs if he doesn't want to fall apart.

"I'm sorry for that."

"Did you at least waste one thought what this might mean to your son?" I ask him. I don't understand his decision. But he hasn't seen what we have. He hasn't seen how hard this hits the boy.

"I have to do this. You have to understand that after ten years in prison it's hard to be free again."

"I asked whether you were thinking about Ryan, especially after you know what had happened the first time." I, I, I. The boy has had enough people who only had been concerned about their own wellbeing.

"I…I can't handle him okay?! I just can't. I can't be a father for him! You can't even imagine how bad that hurts, but I can't change it. I need to go, for his sake."

"Damn it! You're his only family. You can't go like that. Don't you think he's afraid you might not come back again? He already had lost his mother and his brother. Losing his father…will kill him!" I shout at him.

"For that I needed to be a father for him. I never was and I never will. Just promise me to take care of him. You're really nice people and you know how to handle him. He's looking up to both of you, he's listening to you and he trusts you. I never could ask him for that." The speech of a despaired man, who has no clue what a kid he's leaving behind.

"And that's it?"

"That's it. Ryan needs someone who can care for him – handle his past. I'm not the right person for that. Maybe…you can be the family he needs – he deserves." He's honest. But nevertheless this is doing a lot of damage to the boy.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow early morning."

"You should say goodbye."

"No, it's better if I just leave. I never should have come for him." And with these words he leaves our house. My thoughts swirl through my head. Of course I'll – we'll – care for Ryan. We never would have stopped so not even if his father had taken him away from us. I look out the window and see the lights in the pool house are switched on. I go and see my wife sitting on the edge of the boy's bed, stroking through his hair.

"At least we know what had caused this outburst." I say. She looks at me and nods. "He wants us to take care of Ryan."

"Did he think we'll kick him out after everything that happened?" She gets up. She's upset. Me either.

"I rather doubt he was thinking at all." I answer. My wife paces up and down.

"And what now?"

"We'll see how he deals with it tomorrow and then … I have no idea. I…wish his father had never appeared at our front door."

"At least he can't take him away from us." She says and sits down again. I see how she's wrapping one arm around him. She's all mother for him. And I? I want to be his father, but I doubt he'll see me that way one day.

"Shhh, is okay honey." She says. When I get a little closer I see tears streaming down his cheek. Tears he never would cry in front of us.

"He's crying in his sleep Sandy. He…He's broke." My wife says and goes on soothing him. I watch her, taking place in one of the basket chairs.

I don't leave him. Not this night. I'm too afraid of what might happen when I leave. Kirsten went to bed a few hours ago. It's all too much for her. Ryan's sleep is restless. This time I won't let him draw back – not this time. We have to work it out. I swear to myself I would do everything to get the kid through this.

I'm woken by a door slamming. The sun shines bright into the pool house. The boy's bed is empty and before I can ask myself where he's gone I hear the toilet flush. I walk to the bathroom.

"Everything okay in there?" I ask, but get no answer. I decide to enter the room and I find him kneeling on the floor, retching violently. I kneel beside him, rubbing his back. He flinches.

"Is okay, it's only me." I say. He's sweating and shaking and I can say: he has a really bad hangover this time. It hurts to see what torture he inflicts to himself only … to not bother us. His father says he trusts us? I don't think so. Why else does he never come to us? Kirsten had said he needs to learn to let others help him. Maybe he really doesn't know how family works.

He tries to get onto his feet again. He has trouble with his balance. I can catch him, before he falls onto the floor. He turns on the water-tap and washes his face.

"Should stop drinking, hu?" He asks me.

"I would save you a lot of ugly mornings." I answer.

"Can…can I…take a shower…before…our conversation?" He asks me shyly. He always knows that he had acted wrong. When he knows that, why can't he stop it? Why?

"Of course. Do you need any help?" I ask.

"No…thanks." He says. I leave him and go into the kitchen. Kirsten's already awake and drinks coffee.

"How is he?" She asks.

"Badly hangover, but meek." She nods.

"You wanna talk to him?"

"Yep, but I guess he's already preparing himself for that."

"Don't be too hard on him." She says. I take two mugs and go back to the pool house. I don't have to wait for too long and the boy steps out of the bathroom.

"Here." I hand him one of the mugs. He sits down on the foot of the bed. He doesn't dare looking at me. I already know this game. He had messed it up, he expects the punishment. He always expects a punishment, even when he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Your father was here last night and told us, what had caused your outburst and I don't want to blame you for that. Nobody would have taken it well, when one's father declares he goes into the Iraq war. I only want to know, why you didn't come to us." I have to wait for an answer. He chooses his words carefully. He's too afraid to let out too much – too afraid of giving us an insight into his inner world.

"I…I just was angry. I don't think a lot, I guess." I see he's trembling. He's thinking and I feel that there is coming more and I give him the space he needs for his talk.

"I haven't seen him for ten years…then he just appears and…things went well. Shit, after these few weeks I really thought he would stay. Stupid what?" He smirks. I don't think that this was stupid.

"And when he told me he goes back into war…I just was so pissed off. He's leaving me again. As if a few weeks can fix ten years. Despite I know what a wreck he was, when he came back the first time…he's…he's just…it's not good for him and he knows that." He tells me a lot. I didn't expect that. He never was talking to me about things like that.

"I can understand that this must feel awful, but why didn't you come to us?" I push him a little further, carefully not to make him draw back again.

"Dunno." I don't buy this answer.

"Really?"

"Shit. You're doing so much for me…how fucked up does it look when I come to you, crying because my daddy pisses off – someone who doesn't give a shit about me? I…just didn't want to hurt your feelings." With every word that comes, his voice becomes lower. My heart clenched when he states that he doesn't want to hurt us. I sit down next to him. He's still focusing the floor.

"You don't hurt us, when you tell us things like that. Ryan, we know we can't replace your family. But we can be another one." His discomfort is affecting me either.

"I…don't know whether I can handle losing him too." He whispers. This sentence is the most emotional I ever received from him. I put my arms around him. I need to make him aware of me – of us. He needs to feel that he's not alone – that he hasn't to come to terms with it on his own.

"We're there for you to help you. You only need to let us and not everyone who…goes into the Iraq never comes back again." I say to him. I feel his body shiver. His nerves are on the edge.

"I…just have…a bad feeling about this." He whispers. He's too tired to talk aloud.

"We're there, we care for you."

"And how long?" This question brings me back to reality. He still is suspicious about his situation. He still questions how long he can stay, how long we'll be there.

"As long as you let us."

"That's not how it works. Someday you'll be tired of…something like me and then? I have to deal with that on my own. I'm the only one I can rely on." My heart clenches when he says things like that. These words are the mirror of his soul and his past. He can't deal with any of these two parts.

"That's not true." I want to convince him. I want to slap his face to make him realize what bullshit he was talking. But I know he just can't feel different. He follows some kind of mechanism.

"Just leave it with that. I…already told you too much. I shouldn't bother you with that." If he only could see how proud I am that he has said all these things to me.

"Ryan, stop…"

"I'm really sorry for what I've done, if you still can believe me this. So, do whatever you think is necessary for me to learn my lesson." He gets up and makes a distance between him and me. The gap that seemed to close slowly has cracked open again.

"Okay, I talk to Kirsten." I say and leave.


	13. When things seem to work out

_**When things seem to work out**_

**H**e's pale and too thin. Since his father had left, his state had become worse. He doesn't talk to me anymore at our Sudoku matches. He's barely talking anyway.

"Hey Ry, I don't know whether you've noticed but it's Friday, so I just wanted to ask whether you have some plans for today." My son asks his friend, my boy – our boy, our felt son.

"Uh…yes. Marissa and I wanted to go out after school. Her flight to Paris goes tonight."

"Oh, oh. Six weeks without Marissa. How did you plan to survive this?" My son jokes on. Ryan's expression tells me: for him it's not funny at all.

"Shut up, Seth." He replies. I can't stand his moods anymore. But what can I do? If I start to talk about it, he apologizes and disappears in the pool house – not been seen for the rest of the day.

"Okay man, everybody is grumpy sometimes, but would you mind to vent your spleen on the person who is the reason for it and not on us." My son replies. Usually he was the only one who could talk like that to Ryan, but not anymore.

"Sorry." Ryan answers and goes off. I sigh.

"What's wrong with him?" My son asks me. He worries. We all do.

"I don't know."

"I have no idea how you think about this, but in my opinion the use of happy pills doesn't seem as such bad idea." He tells me and goes to school too. Honestly: I have thought about that myself.

In the evening both my boys are home. Ryan even seems to be more depressed.

"Everything okay between you and Marissa?" I ask him. He nods. He's not looking at me, neither at Sandy.

"Don't worry. These six weeks will pass by in no matter of time. And I'm sure you don't have to worry about Marissa. Maybe these six weeks bring you even closer together." I want to cheer him up a little. Without Marissa there's no person he can open up to when he doesn't feel too well.

"Can…can she come by, this evening?" He asks me. He still doesn't consider his place as home. He still asks before doing anything. Seth didn't even ask me, whether Summer can stay over night. He takes his home as granted – not does Ryan.

"She can, but I want you to sit down first and talk to me." I take the chance this situation offers me. He sits down at the dinner table and I sit down across from him.

"I know that you're sad about your father's decision. But you can't punish us for that. Believe me if it was in my power to change the situation I'd do so. But I can't – we can't." I try to get some sense back into the boy.

"Sorry." He answers and I have to brace myself not to scream into his face that I don't want to hear this word from his mouth again. He shell stop blaming himself for everything and start to live.

"Ryan I…don't want to hear your apology. I want you to start to live again. I haven't forgotten the boy who came here first and turned our life upside down. I miss this boy and you can't ask me to watch this any longer. If you don't start to…pull yourself together we have to take measures and I can't promise you'll like them." I never would talk to my son that way. But sometimes I have to treat Ryan like he was a young child. I think it's because he never had been one – he never had been treated that way.

"And how?" He asks me.

"Just start to have fun again."

"Oh…can you start this ultimatum when these six weeks are over?" He asks with a lopsided smile.

"Oh no, you can also have fun with Seth and his Ninja games. Despite as far as I know Summer is going to France too, so six weeks only you and him. You should enjoy this free time."

"Oh yes, videogames until late night, no love story – but a Bruce Willis movie, rough parties and flirting with other girls. Yummy." I slap his arm, but his grin tells me: he's only joking and I'm glad he hasn't lost his sense for jokes. Maybe he only needs someone who tells him to live once in a while, because when he leaves for the pool house, he's still smiling.

The evening is vivid. Both girls came for dinner and now all four are in the pool house and do…probably what we have done in this age. So I don't want too disturb them. I only hear some laughter once in a while and sometimes it seemed as if even Ryan laughs a little.

My husband and I enjoy the time we can spend alone together in front of the TV. We both had a rough day and are only looking forward the weekend. Thanks God it's Friday. We watch the news. I don't like to. Since Monday they report on several attacks in Iraq which forced several US-soldiers death. I always prey it's not his father's picture coming up on the screen. I can understand that he didn't take it well, when his father told him he was going to war.

"_A new attack shocked Bagdad today. While a routine mission, two manned cars of the US-Army fall victim to a bomb attack that forced two more death in the history of the Iraq-crisis."_ I lookat my husband. He shakes his head, telling me not to worry. Maybe I'm really paranoid.

"_The state grieves for Robert Mason and Frank T. Atwood._" I close my eyes. I hear glass shatter. Immediately I turn around. There couldn't have been a worse point of time for him to come in. He's frozen in his tracks. No motion. I can see his chest is moving up and down, he's breathing heavily. He doesn't look at one of us.

"Ryan…"I say. But my mind is blank. I'm in shock and when I look at my husband I see, he's either.

"Ryan, don't run away." My husband says. There's no reaction in the boy. He only stands there.

"Ryan, did you listen to me?" My husband asks him. In a sudden Ryan turns around and runs. Where? I have no idea. I … can't think of anything despite: how is he supposed to come over this? This definitely is too much for a boy in his age. I watch my husband running after Ryan, calling out his name. My son and the two girls step in.

"Mum…what happened?" My son asks looking at the shattered glass on the floor. I shook my head.

"His…father died in the war…today. It…was in the news." I say. I have to pull myself together again. I can't lose hope now. The boy needs me.

"Oh my God!" Marissa calls out. Her face only shock. "Where is he?" She asks me. I can see she had tears in her eyes.

"I don't know. I hope Sandy catches him, before he does something stupid."

"Mum…do you…do you think, we can get Ryan through this?" My son asks me. I can't tell him. It was hard enough to get him through the last months. I doubt Ryan will get through this unharmed. It's just too much.

"We have to." I only answer. My head switches into an automatism. We have to react to help him through this. We need to prevent any further damage. We have to hold him tight now otherwise he falls apart.

"Seth, go and make up the third bedroom upstairs. Summer can give you a hand with it until she has to leave."

"Mum…why?"

"I want Ryan in the house twenty four hours. I don't want him run again and inflict more damage to what is already done to him." I answer. I'm acting like a machine now. This was the last thing we could need, but now it was there and we had to come over this crisis.

"Mrs. Cohen…is…there anything I can do?" Marissa asks me.

"Let's wait and hope Sandy finds Ryan and then we'll see." I answer. I go to the stove, take the kettle and spoil the water for some tea. We all will need one. I hear the front door shut. Ryan enters the kitchen, guided by my husband's hands.

"Oh God." I say and take the boy into my arms. I'm glad he didn't manage to run this time. I'm sure this time it would have ended in more trouble than usually. He fights me embrace and I let off of him.

"Coop, we should go. We have to be at the airport at…"Summer and my son join us.

"Ryan, I don't have to go. If you want me to, I stay." Marissa says.

"No…you…should go. You were looking forward this trip for so long." He answers. He never would even admit, when he wanted her to stay. He's too afraid of making others unhappy with his wishes and desires that he's forgetting himself.

"But…" She wants to convince him that he needs her. But I see in his eyes he only wants to be alone.

"Can you do me this favour? I…don't want anyone around and this…can last a few days."

"Okay, I think of you everyday." She embraces him and he responds her embrace. I'm envious. Why didn't he embrace me?

"Sent me a postcard." He says and kisses her onto the top of her head.

"I'll write you an e-mail, everyday."

"I'd rather liked postcards. I never got one." He states sadly. As if this matters right now. For him it matters. He never had received one and now there was someone who would send him one.

"Okay, everyday one." They kiss goodbye.

When the girls are gone, Ryan heads for the pool house.

"Oh no. You stay in the house." I say to him. My husband looks at me. He understands.

"What? Why?" He doesn't sound too happy about this change.

"I want you as close as possible, thus we can be sure that you don't run and do something stupid." I answer him. His face darkens.

"I'm not running." It hurts to realize he doesn't want to live with us – or better doesn't want to be close to us.

"That's what you tell us now." My husband steps in.

"Hell, I just want to…get some rest okay?! It's not like this massage passes me…without anything. I mean…my Dad died. I'll never see him again, what means after ten years the last weeks had been the last in which I've been able to see him and talk to him!" He screams. No, I didn't expect that. Usually it takes him a little longer until he walks postal. But these are exceptional circumstances.

"Ryan, we know that this is really hard for you. We only want to be there for you, to…help you in this. But you need to trust us." I try to convince him. He says nothing but slumps down on one of the stools, hiding his face in his hands.

"How long?" He asks defeated.

"As long as necessary." I say. My husband and I go to him, both rubbing his back comfortingly. Now he needs to know we're there for him. He not only needs to know, but he also needs to feel it. He needs to feel that he's not alone.

"Kid, we get you through this. But you need to let us help you this time. This is too huge for you to deal with it on your own." My husband says.

"Can I get some stuff out of the pool house, so that I don't have to walk through the whole house, when I need something?" He asks. He's defeated. Maybe our chance to bond with him. Our chance to make him trust us. Damn, how selfish am I? I'll make use of the situation only to get a closer relationship to him? But I'm sad too. Now there's nobody left for the boy. If we weren't there…he…he… I'm afraid to lose him through this. He's already struggling too hard with other things and we all know that Ryan draws back, instead of asking for help – getting closer to those who are there for him.

"Of course you can. Ryan, we don't do this to hurt you…but…because we love you." I say to him. I don't know whether I ever told him that or if it was the right point of time to tell him.

"Thanks." He whispers and then he goes to get some things out of the pool house.

"Hey, you move in now, hu? Need any help?" My son asks him.

"No, thanks." Ryan answers, his arms full of things he needs.

"And…how do you feel?" Ryan only shrugs his shoulders. "I know this sounds really lame, but…I'm really sorry for…you know. And if you want to talk about it or anything, you can always come to me. I'm not only a good talker."

"Thanks. Besides, if you ever wake me in the middle of the night, I swear I'll clobber you with a pillow."

"Nah, I don't think so. Mum bought these super soft pillows."


	14. Seconds and the Kirstenator

_**Seconds and the Kirstenator**_

**T**he weekend passed by in a blur. I know I should be damn fucking sad, but I feel nothing. Instead of crying I spend most time of the weekend playing videogames with Seth or doing homework. But I'm deadly tiered. I didn't sleep a second the last days. Something is bothering me. I only don't know what it is. I'm only aware of that it bothers me badly.

"Ryan, dude, do you come? Borky boy won't be too happy if you come too late to his history class." Seth teases me. I roll my eyes. History. I could puke over the hallway floor by only thinking about it.

"I hate history." I state and then we go to the classroom. I take my usual place in the back row. I try to be invisible for him. That's all. Shit. My head's killing me. No, I don't feel too well today. That needs to be changed – rapidly! I can't afford to lose energy in class.

"Good morning class." The teacher comes in. "Because of current occasions I'd like to talk a little about the history of Arabian countries, in first place the development of the Iraq." Oh no. This wasn't good. I feel my stomach starts hurting. I catch a concerned glance from Seth. I only shrug my shoulders. I only have to stay calm. This has nothing to do with me. There's nothing to worry about. Okay, at least I can convince my head. My body doesn't understand.

"We start with some news I've tapped over the weekend. We watch them and then discuss what was on the report." Okay, things can get worse. But Friday doesn't belong to the weekend, right? No, it doesn't. It's the last day of the week. It is an end. I concentrate on my breath. Why am I afraid of this topic?

"We start with the news from Friday evening." Well, no. I don't need them. I had them once and no I can't say I took it well. I have no clue what a second time can cause. I only need to avoid this single news report. It should be possible.

"Uh…Dr. Bork…could…could I leave the room for a second. I…don't feel to well." And this wasn't even a lie. I just leave out the reason why I don't feel well.

"Mr. Atwood, don't you think I know all excuses for getting a break from classes?" I forgot he hates me and would never believe me.

"Dr. Bork, Ryan is really a bit under the weather." Seth tried to help me.

"Mr. Cohen, it's really nice that you want to help your friend. But I don't think you can judge the situation by seeing Mr. Atwood five minutes before class." He has really no clue.

"His parents are my foster parents, meaning we live under the same roof." I only answer.

"I didn't think you already intruded into our society that far." I don't think he's allowed to say things like that. He turns his back towards us and starts the tape. I'm not going to see that again. I don't want to feel this…again…I can't. The tape runs. _A new attack shocked Bagdad._ Only six more seconds. Five. _While a routine mission tow manned car of the US Army. _ I can't bear to see this again. Although his picture didn't appear on the screen yet, I feel as if my chest starts to burst. I already know that my Dad died in one of the most unnecessary wars. I don't need to see it again. And I don't want to be gossip topic number one among the other students. My heart beats faster. Four. _Fall victim to a bomb attack which forces two more death. _My head is close to explode. I have trouble with vision and I can't breath. I can't tell what this is. I can't breath. Three. _In history of Iraq Crisis. _My head is killing me. I can't breath. I'm not thinking about anything. I take my bag and head to the classroom door.

"Mr. Atwood I didn't allow you to leave." I don't care. He stands in my way. Two. _The state grieves for Robert Manson._

"I need to get out now!" He shakes his head. One. _And Frank T. Atwood. _Bang! It feels as if my head explodes. I push Dr. Bork out of my way and storm out. I can't breath, I can't see. My vision starts to blur.

"Mr. Atwood, come back, immediately!" I hear him scream. "Mr. Cohen!" My head starts to spin. I don't know where I am. I can't breath.

"Ryan, man?" It's Seth I can make it out of the voice but…my vision blurs more. My legs feel numb and my surrounding turns black. I'm safe. I hear someone calling my name and some other voices, but I don't care. I sink deeper and deeper into the darkness.

I feel something warm and soft at my cheek.

"Ryan, sweetie." I hear voices. Female and known. I don't want to wake up. I don't want to face cruel reality anymore. I want to leave it all behind. I don't want my part overhauling me everyday – every fucking second.

"C'mon honey. You can't do this to me." Did anyone ever thought about what they were doing to me? I don't want to wake up. I want to start from new somewhere in the darkness, without the heavy bag called past. But with every second it gets harder and I slowly open my eyes. A too bright light shines above me.

"Hey, Ryan. How are you?" I turn me head. It's Kirsten. What is she doing here? She's supposed to be in the office and I can't imagine the lights in school being that bright.

"What happened?"

"You collapsed at school. You're in a hospital." What? No. No. No. But it explains the bright light.

"Can…can we go now?" I ask her. She still strokes my cheek gently and the touch feels warm and comfortingly.

"Not now. When the IV is finished." IV? I look down my body and really, there's a needle sticking in the back of my hand.

"This isn't good, or?" I ask her. I'm afraid. I never woke up in a hospital with a black out. I don't like it here. And hell. In school? They're going to talk about this until I've graduated and longer.

"You're very exhausted. Did you sleep at all in the last days?" She asks me. I only shake my head. I feel like breaking into tears right now and I can't tell why. Fuck! What's wrong with me? Since months I'm an emotional wreck, but now I feel as if I'm insane. I swallow hard several times. I don't want to cry.

"I thought that. This is all a little too much, hu?" She says. A little? "I talked to Dr. Kim. You're released from school for next couple of days, maybe weeks. Depends on how long you need to get back on tracks." No! How will I ever get back to my former grades? I can't stay at home for so long.

"But I have to…"

"That's not going to be discussed. Ryan, you had a break down. That's quite serious in your age. Besides we'll have to find a solution concerning you history class." Can the problems start to find another victim? I have enough crises. I don't need anymore.

"He feels quite bad about this incident." She goes on. I don't care right now. I only wanna leave.

"And now close your eyes and try to sleep a little."

"I don't think I can sleep."

"Then just rest. You need it."

It had taken two hours until the IV was finished. The ride home was quiet. We arrive.

"You go upstairs and lie down again." She commands. I don't like that.

"I'm not sick or…"

"Ryan! You go and lie down. I bring you some lunch later." Am I allowed to feel like a child of the age of five?  
"But…"

"Ryan, bed now! That's the safest place for you in the moment." I look at her and I can say: I have not the slightest chance, thus I obey. It still sucks to live on the same floor with the rest. And I don't know why. I'm afraid of losing my privacy, although the only change is that I sleep in the main house now. I'm staring at the ceiling for a while and after I have enough I go and fetch my books out of my bag. I can use the time to study. I really need to. I turn onto my stomach and start to read.

"Ryan! What are you doing and why aren't you in bed?" She sounds a little hysterical.

"Because you said I shell lie down and I'm lying." She's smothering me with all her concerns and mothering. I can't do this. I'm not…like Seth who would feel like in heaven. I'm used to deal with me and my problems on my own. I know better what's good for me and what's not. How can she know anyway? She didn't see me growing up. She has no clue.

"C'mon Ryan. Seth never needs to be told twice to go to bed due the day."

"But I'm not Seth." No, I don't think about what I'm saying. I only feel that her whole mothering steps on my nerves. I don't want to be mean. I only want to get some peace. I hate it, if people … just exaggerate with taking care of me.

"That's right. You're not." She says and then leaves. When the door is shut, I realize that what I've said hadn't been the nicest way to say: get off my back. I'm a total idiot. That's how I always notice that I'm not from here. Fuck. I'm really a screwed up now. I go down stairs. I hate myself for the pain I cause among those who only want to help me. I'm such a pain in their asses and I can't imagine only one reason why they still haven't kicked me out yet. I've performed enough mistakes. They easily could get rid of me and no one would blame them. Not even I would do so. Yes, I feel very bad and I want to bury myself somewhere where nobody ever will find me again. Why do I always do that? Why am I such a punk lately? I slowly make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. Kirsten is sitting at the kitchen table, working.

"This is not your bed." She says, without looking up from the plans. Okay, precise instruction. I'd better piss off.

"I didn't say leave." She now looks at me and I feel … embarrassed can't even describe the discomfort arising in me.

"Sit down." She points at the chair across from her. I obey. There's already a mug of steaming coffee placed.

"Okay Ryan, I know you didn't mean to. Nevertheless your behaviour starts to hurt us. We try everything to help you, but you're rejecting us. When you started to attend at Harbor you were such a quiet and relaxed boy. But since Sandy took you out of the foster home and brought you here, you're explosive. It only takes a little for you to fly into rage or you just pretend to be indifferent. This is exactly the rude boy my son then had made friends with. What brings me to the conclusion that you're completely stressed out and don't tell me you're fine." Someone is reading me and no, I don't like it.

"Ryan you need to admit to yourself that you're far from fine. You need help, in somehow or do you have a plan how to get through this?" She looks at me and I know she wants an answer.

"Just…wait…and not think about it?" She's intimidating me, when she looks at me like that.

"Oh no. That's not dealing with it, that's called bottling up. And this is exactly what I witness. Dealing means mourn. But you didn't mourn you mother's death, or your brother's and I doubt you mourn your father's death. Do you actually know what mourn means? This means crying and I haven't seen a single tear on your face." I hate if people say things like that straight into my face. They make me feel very uncomfortable. And why? Because they're right with those things.

"And for the sake of completeness. Do you really think anyone believes you when you pretend to handle your past as if nothing had happened? Do you really think anyone believes you that you can handle years of abuse – even sexual abuse? Oh no, when you think that, you're so wrong." Why is she throwing all these things at me? I don't want to listen to it anymore. I can't. She's so close to throw me of the loop and I can't allow her that. Nobody ever had managed to and she won't either.

"Ryan, you're not leaving this house. I don't want to have to pick you up twice a day from the ER."

"You can't lock me up." Now I'll show her how stubborn I can be. I'm not letting her folding me flat and then treating me like a delinquent…shit I am a…just leave it with that.

"Oh yes, you're grounded. Meaning, you're not going anywhere." Hu? What have I done wrong to deserve this?

"You can't do this without reason."

"Oh yes I can. Despite I have enough reason for that. You're dishonest to us and yourself and you're not listening to what I say." Dishonest? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"Dishonest? You're kidding." I have the feeling as if everybody only is determined to…antagonise me to the edge.

"No, I'm not. Besides I have told you to go to bed and you're not listening. So, if you want to keep your punishment as low as possible, you do what I say and get your ass to bed. Otherwise there also will be no videogames, no TV and no Computer. Got it?" Did I mention that she is a bitch?

"And all the shit only because I…had a little break down at school? That's not fair. It wasn't my fault that Bork didn't let me leave the room." Oh yes, I start to behave like a brand-new teenager who just hits puberty.

"You wouldn't have needed to leave the room, if you had admitted that your father's death had hit you…hard." If she mentions this only one more time, I swear I…

"What are you still doing here? Shoo, bed NOW!" I turn around and obey. I don't want to mess this up. Ah, I forgot. I already messed it up. Shit I really screwed up this time. Hell, how am I supposed to survive the fiend Kirsten? I won't. I don't want to spend the rest of the day in bed. I don't like to lie around like a potato and do nothing. I have to get used to it.

"Hey dude, how are you?" Seth enters the room.

"Fine." I growl.

"Uh…it's grumpy again. So you don't enjoy some spoil-Ryan-time?" The…what the fuck?

"What are you talking about?"

"Lying in bed the whole day, not being allowed to do homework, even eating in bed. Hell you have a life." And for this I would like to slap his face.

"Seth! This is not funny. Your Mum turned into some crazy witch and I'm afraid I wake up as frog the next morning."

"Well, then you should be glad that we don't live in France. You know they love eating frogs."

"Seth! That's. Not. Funny."

"Have you seen your face? If you do so, you'll see it is." Seth only answers and I see now other way anymore. I grab my pillow and I'm glad that Seth is not a too athletic person.


	15. Foster Brat

_**Foster Brat**_

"**W**hy didn't you call me?" When I came home my wife told me that our foster son has had a break down. She didn't expect I take it well, did she? Now I'm more than agitated.

"You said you had an appointment at court today. I wasn't sure when and how long. But I managed it."

"After what you told me, you had some trouble." I don't know what to do with this kid. He starts to behave like a rude bastard and that's so unlike him. He never had acted like that and…we both can't imagine he realizes his behaviour.

"But I managed…I don't know what's wrong. He behaves like a teenager who hits puberty – very hard." If this even described what went on with him.

"Or he just behaves like every normal foster kid that has lost his whole family in a row." I answer. Ryan was no normal teenager, so his hormones couldn't be an explanation for his behaviour.

"You mean it's something emotional?" I shrug my shoulders. I'm no shrink to answer this question. I'm only a public defender who had thought of having enough experience to handle such a kid. I'm faced with the fact: I haven't.

"What did the doctor say what caused his break down?" I ask.

"Exhaustion and he asked whether he was under a lot of mental stress. I told him about the last months and he suggested watching how his behaviour develops and then see a therapist if it doesn't get better any soon."

"You know what Mrs. Turner had said." I remind my wife. Maybe this woman was right. Maybe this was the only solution to get him back on tracks. Antidepressants weren't meant to be used a lifetime. Only as long as he needs to come to terms again.

"But you also know I don't agree with these drugs." I sigh and sit down. I rack my brains since weeks only to find a solution for us. But I can't seem to find one.

"Regular sessions with a therapist?" I ask.

"Do you think that will work?" She suspicious and I honestly don't think that this will work. The boy won't talk and try everything to manipulate the work. But going through this alone is too difficult for us. I hate myself for this thought but someone needs to clip the boy's wings, otherwise we never can get control over his actions. Not that we want to control him at all. But fact is: as long as Ryan isn't reliant on us, we'll never be able to make him trust us. And we'll never able to solve his problem.

"But we need to make him trust us. Only then he'll let us help him … touch the sore points." I say.

"How to make a boy - who only met violence, crime and loneliness – trust you? This is what we're trying since months and it's not working."

"Maybe he needs stricter rules than before." This could help. He would depend on sticking to them, if he wanted to get his freedom. Or it would make things only worse. But Ryan never has had to arrange his life around rules – he figured out by himself what's right and what's …maybe this was the problem. He only knows what he can do and what not.

"He doesn't know that these rules also exist for others." I mumble not noticing I started to speak out loud my thought.

"What?"

"Ryan knows that he has to take responsibility for his actions and he can do so. Maybe he doesn't know that this is also valid for others. This could explain that he doesn't trust us."

"At least nobody in his family had stuck to rules – he had felt it more than once. Might be an idea worth a try." My wife says. She's tiered. We both are, but we have to fight for the boy. We had agreed to give him a new life – a family – and we had known it won't be too easy. We have to pull through this now. And honestly: I don't think it's easy for him.

"Can I talk to him?"

"On your risk." She says. Hell, this behaviour would match Seth when he had been five. Ryan was sixteen now and used to be a lot more mature than his behaviour shows us lately. I go upstairs. The door is closed. Of course it is. The boy needs a lot privacy and we dared to take it away from him, by putting him into the main house. Who real parent liked the idea having one kid staying in a pool house which could be easily blown away by only some heavy wind? I – for my part – have the feeling as if I can sleep a lot better, since he moved in. But this also could all be only an illusion. I knock on the door, but don't wait before stepping in. I never do so. He's sitting on the bed and reading something.

"Didn't Kirsten tell you something about resting _in_ bed?" I say. He shuts the book – physics – and looks at me. I go and sit down on the bed.

"Do you want to tell me what had happened today?" I ask him. His glance goes down, focusing his hands.

"Didn't Kirsten tell you?" He asks. It's not a smug kind of question, more a defeated one – accepting.

"I want to hear your version." He sighs.

"I had a little break down at school today and … then I was in hospital." Clear facts, no judgment, no excuses.

"A little one? You woke up in hospital. I won't consider that as little." He only shrugs his shoulders. I start to ask, whether he had only once cared about himself and his wellbeing. I'm sure if it had been Seth who broke down at school, Ryan wouldn't take it as easy as he takes it now. But nobody ever had taught him that one had to take care of oneself as well – not only for others. He was never taught that he was worth it, to be cared about, that's what's making him indifferent about himself.

"Did you think about what had caused this?" I ask on. But his face tells me, he had already shut down.

"I'm sorry for touching sore points, but the fact that… this news report made you break down, shows me I'm faced with a teenager who still can't handle his mother's death; his brother's and is far away from handling his father's death. And I didn't even mention all those matters of abuse you went through."

"Why the fuck do you tell me all this?" Oh. I have hit a nerve. No wonder. When the boy started physically to suffer under his emotions, all this must be close to the surface – not difficult to touch.

"Because I would like to know, how you feel about this situation and what you think, to do about it." Again the boy only shrugged his shoulders and then he got up. He makes a distance between us.

"Okay, after I told you how I feel about the situation I'm now going to tell you, what I'll about to do, if this doesn't start to get any better. If you don't start to open up to anyone of us, I'll force you to a therapist no matter if I have to tie your hands and legs. The time limit is set for Friday. If you haven't had a word to anyone of us since then, you'll have an appointment with a therapist by Monday. Did you get that?" Now I'm harsh. But the boy needs to understand that this is serious. At least he understood what I was saying. He starts shooting angry glances at me. Angry? If I wasn't sure about him, I now would be afraid he might seek me living.

"You can't do that." Now I understand what my wife meant with: he hit puberty.

"Oh yes, I can."

"My Dad might be dead, but I guess the guardianship court would like to have a word in this too." Ouch. This hurt. He didn't see us as parents at all. Thinking this makes my heart clench. Fact: this statement hit me hard. What have we done to deserve this? We did everything to be his family and…he…he's such a brat.

"Don't even start with this." I have to control my temper. If it wasn't his past, I'm sure I'd slapped his face. But hell knows what further damage this could cause in this…not really existent relationship between us.

"Why not, it's the truth."

"Maybe it's your truth and the legal truth. But Kirsten's and my truth feels a little different." Why doesn't he see that we love him like our own son? Why doesn't he feel that we love him? He can't be that numb, can he? He heads for the door and wants to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" I call after him.

"Away." He's such a rude brat. I can't believe the boy who came here first is the same I'm faced with right now.

"Would you like to explain me why?"

"I can't take this any longer." He yells at me. He knows very well nobody yells in this household.

"What? What can't you take any monger?" I scream back.

"This whole fucking shit about family! Don't you realize what a bullshit you're talking, when you try to make me believe this?" This was hard. I don't know how long I'll have to stomach this. But this might be the most honest confession we ever could get from him. I take a deep breath. Truth? I only want to scream into his face how fucking wrong he is.

"Okay Ryan, I guess we're faced with even bigger conflicts we thought. So maybe it's better if we find someone who can help us with this already this week. I don't think anyone of us can handle this." I admit. My wife appears and looks questioning at me, but one look at the boy tells her what's wrong – again.

"What the fuck are you talking about? First you give me time until Friday and now this?" Oh yeah, he's angry. It seems as talking to a therapist is the worse thing one could do to him. But there had been so much worse things done to him. So, I don't know what this fight is about.

"Ryan, you admitted yourself that you don't believe in things like family and that's not normal. Not for a teenager at your age." I try to explain him.

"I'm not doing this." Now he plays the stubborn teenager. I only want the boy back he had been. What was so damn difficult about it?

"Ryan, maybe Sandy is right. Maybe a therapist could give us some helpful advices how to handle the situation." My wife steps in. She always has a calming influence in these heated arguments between the boy and me.

"So now I'm officially a nutcase."

"Nobody thinks of you as a nutcase. But this is no condition. It can't go on like this and we think we need help to solve this." My wife goes on.

"I don't need someone who tells me how broke I am." Another confession and it becomes clear to me that he's only afraid to be faced with his own fears.

"Nobody will tell you this. Listen, we just need some advices how to handle this situation. Nobody will ask you about your feelings and things like that. We go there, explain this someone what our problem is and listen to what he or she can tell us to do. No analyzes, not much talking. Just some help." My wife tries to take his fears away. I only hope she manages to, because I'm at the end of my tether. The boy doesn't answer. The tension in the atmosphere grows bigger and bigger. There's nothing left but tension.

"I…I can't do that." He whispers, but these four words pull the trigger – my trigger.

"It's done, as Kirsten suggests. There's no more discussion about it." I determine. This needs to have an end. I won't allow this situation destroying me and Kirsten…and him. It's the best for all of us. He's only too young to see it.

"You can't decide this just like that!" He now screams again. And we're back to where we've been a few minutes before, but I'll show him what we as 'only foster parents' can do.

"Oh yes, I can and I will!" I yell back. I have no clue how to make him understand that there will be no more discussion about this.

"No, you can't. You aren't my parents!" I wish so hard he hadn't said this. I wish it for me, I wish it for him and I wish it for my wife, who seems to break into tears after this sentence. I lose control. I don't know what I'm doing. So, when my hand slaps his face, I haven't really thought about it. Only when I meet these cold eyes and the reddened cheek, I notice what I've done.

"You should know that this can't impress me." He says cold and then leaves. I'm frozen in my tracks, thus I don't follow him.

Since hours I sit in the living room. Brooding-time as my son would call it. This should rather be Ryan's part than mine. I have no clue about what to do now. My wife has gone to bed early. What he had said had hit her hard – too hard. It had hurt her awfully and I'm not capable of comforting her. I myself am hurt by this sentence. I try to find out what went wrong. There could be so much being wrong. But considering these mistakes from another point of view they seem correct again. I had thought of being able to put myself in his place. I thought I could understand him. But I don't. The only common ground we have is the surrounding we grew up in – nothing else. I underestimated his past. I didn't think his past was influencing him that bad. I hear the door opens. At least I don't have to pick him up drunk from somewhere at the beach.

"Ryan?" I want to talk to him – once again. But we need to sort this out and if this lasts the whole night. He enters the kitchen – head ducked.

"Can we try a new start?" I ask carefully. He shrugs his shoulders. I get up and go to the kitchen and pour us two mugs tea.

"Would you like to sit down?" I ask him. He doesn't say anything, but obeys.

"There is one thing I would like to know. Do you notice how much it hurt us, when you tell us that we aren't your parents or family? Because it does. It hurts us a lot." He lifts his head a little and I meet this sad and despaired face again. He shakes his head. He turned mute again.

"Do you understand that we feel like your parents?" I beg for an honest answer. I look at him. He's thinking carefully of what to say. He always does, despite in our arguments. Thus I don't know whether I should be glad about them, as these are the only situations in which he offers me some honest emotion and insight. Again he shakes his head. He doesn't say these words. They would make it to real for him and this would make him realize something was utterly wrong – wrong with him. Sad to admit, but truth is he's broke. He only tries to run away from his problems, instead of solving them.

"Do you understand that anyone could feel like a parent to you?" Again he shakes his head.

"You know that this is wrong, don't you?" I ask again. He shrugs his shoulders.

"And you need to understand that we don't want to hurt when we suggest a therapist. It's only to help you …us to understand the situation and to get to know how to handle it. Okay?" The boy nods.

"I…also wanted to say sorry for slapping you. I shouldn't have lost my composure and done that." I say. He needs to know that things are different here – that we're different from the others.

"Never mind." He answers and gets up. I'm stunned at this answer. I had thought of hell what would cause this in him and he just doesn't care?

"But you should mind…Ryan…it's not okay if someone slaps you…not even if it's me."

"Sandy, it's okay. I got the difference okay?"

"But Ryan you can't…"

"Sandy, listen: you slapped me because I forced you to. My Mum's boyfriend did it because they were drunk or just wanted to have fun or both. Okay? There's a huge difference and I got it." He wasn't serious or? He tried to explain me why it was correct when I slapped him. I understand more and more how broke he is. There are too many things wrong in his way of thinking and feeling. Nobody ever should think it was okay, when he was slapped.

"Okay, I just say it once again. Thinking it's okay if anyone slaps you, is wrong. And those thoughts are making us worry. But let us talk about this tomorrow. It's already late and you need to rest. Besides, did you drink?" I beg him to be honest. I couldn't bear it, if he lied to me. He ducked his head and nodded. I feel relieved that he at least had enough courage left to be honest to me. Or is this a glimmer of trust? I shouldn't read too much into his behaviour.

"Much?"

"Don't worry I'm out of training, so you would notice if it was much." He answers. I look at him.

"One beer." I was even more relieved. This was nearly nothing for his standards.

"And you smoked."

"Sorry. Bad habits die hard."

"Okay, so now to bed. You know you need to rest." I say and he nods.


	16. I can't

**A/N.:**I just wanted to warn you: if you don't find the story it'll be because I have to rate it M for some adult reasons in the following chapters ;) Have fun and enjoy

* * *

_**I can't**_

**I**'m still tired from last evening. Listening to what Ryan had said hit me hard. I have stayed awake all night thinking about what we've done wrong. Why didn't he accept us as his family? Didn't we do enough to make him believe and trust us? Or can't he trust and believe us, because of what had happened to him? I only want him to be my son so bad that sentences like this one make my heart break into pieces. I stare out the window of our bedroom. I took the day off. I'm too tired because of the lack of sleep and someone has to watch Ryan. I'm so afraid he might break down again. Maybe the next time it wouldn't as lightly as the first one. I'm so scared of loosing him that I forget about the fact that I never had him. It's time to react. My husband is right. Maybe what Mrs. Turner said is the only solution for him and us. A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I turn around and look into this sad face. Guilt is written all over it.

"Can…can I come in?" He asks shyly and again with every word his voice gets lower and lower.

"Sure." I say and make some space, so he can sit down next to me on the bed. "Sit down." I say. Dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn't had a better night than I. Only Sandy is capable of sleeping after days like the last one.

"I…I didn't mean to hurt you…yesterday…it'…if I had known that what I said…hurts you I…wouldn't have said it." He whispers.

"May I ask you a question?" I ask him. He nods. "What makes it that difficult to believe that we love you, like our own son?" He doesn't look at me and I don't expect an answer. This question is too close to his sore points as if he dares to answer it.

"If your Mum calls you a mistake and only watches when you get your ass kicked for no reason. And your Dad doesn't care enough for you to not to risk his life in some stupid war. What do you expect?" He says calm, but quiet. I don't know how to react. Did I really expect he understands what family means for us – those that grew up in a stable family or at least in one without violence and addictions.

"And due the whole months that you stay with us, you didn't notice that things are different here?" I try to understand him, but I fail. I can't understand his motives.

"Uh…I…dunno…noticed yes…but…I can't …you grew up with your definition of family and you live it and…I with mine…it's …not that I don't want to adapt…I…" I look at him. My heart breaks at his struggle for words.

"I…can't…no matter how bad I want to." He's telling me so much about his inner conflict, but I have no idea what it is supposed to mean. What does it mean when he says he can't adapt to our way of family? Why can't he? Where's his barrier. I see I have to help him. But I can't. I'm paralyzed every time when he tries to explain me things like these. It's just too hard to accept.

"And what are we supposed to do about it? It can't go on like this any longer." He shrugs his shoulders. I take him into my arms. As if this gesture could change anything in his inside. But I want to make him able to be part of this family. I want it that bad and I'm willing to do everything for it. I can't see him any longer this sad and distant.

"We all need help in this."

"You…shouldn't…be burdened with my…emotional problems." He says and struggles out of my arms.

"Stop talking like that." I see fear in his eyes – panic.

"I…sorry…I can't do this…it's just too much." He says and storms out of the room. I follow him.

"Ryan, what's wrong with you?" I call after him. The sudden change in his behaviour frightens me.

"Ryan, wait…we can work it out…just…" He doesn't listen to me and the last thing I hear is the door shut. I sigh. I let him go. I don't want to push him too hard right now, as it had cost him a lot courage open up to me like that. I know I have grounded him, but he hadn't stuck to it last night and I doubt if I punish him further it would lead to anything. He's used to punishment and if breaking their rules meant more punishment he even broke these. I still see his cold eyes, after Sandy had slapped his face. He had provoked it. He had made my husband's blood boil and hell knows what it took to get him that far to the edge. Sometimes I ask myself whether Ryan wouldn't be better of, if we hadn't taken him in. Maybe it had been better if we had let him stay in this foster home and just had stuck to our from-Monday- to-Friday-solution until we had been able to turn it step by step into a permanent stay. Maybe this change had been way too fast for him.

"Hey Mum!" My son comes home from school. Ryan's still not back and I hope Seth might bring him back, but he's alone.

"Hi honey, how was your day?" I ask him.

"Boring and without Ryan even worse." He answers. I don't know why my son is able to make Ryan feel comfortable in his presence.

"Can I go to him? I need to talk to him."

"No, he's not there." I answer.

"What? I thought he was grounded."

"Yes and he still is. It's just…for him…us…it's not as easy now, as we thought it would be." I tell him. I know my son and thus I don't even try to make up some story only to protect him. He would find out the truth anyway.

"What do you mean?"

"We underestimated the effects his past might have for his future life. We thought it was a good thing to bring him here, being one family. But it's not as easy for him as we thought and his past is the problem why he can't accept us as family. He still didn't leave his past behind." I try to explain him. If Ryan would like it? Of course not. But Seth is not dumb. He can add one and one.

"You mean that's why he behaves like a brat lately?" As I said, he notices everything quite fast.

"You can say it that way."

"Is…is there anything I can do to help to make it easier for him to accept us or for you to handle this situation?" Yes, my son is spoilt and a little self-centred. But when the chips are down he always shows us he has the heart in the right place.

"Honestly, I have no idea what we can do. Perhaps you can be a good example for him and try to show him that being a family isn't as difficult as he thinks – that he doesn't have to be afraid of it."

"That should be possible. Okay I go and do my homework. If I you want me to search for him – once again – just tell me. I'm right in my room." He says and then disappears upstairs. He's mature too. He also is not like a normal teenager, but his maturity is way different from Ryan's one. My son's maturity makes me feel comfortable. It doesn't frighten me – like Ryan's. Thoughts run through me head and I decide it's better not to call my husband. His mood is already strained regarding the boy.

"What does it mean he went off?" He asks me. He's pissed off and no, I don't want to watch my inner language.

"After he told me all these things he…just ran. I wasn't able to stop him and…after he had opened up to me I thought he might need some space to regain his composure back." I explain him.

"Damn it Kirsten, we can't always let him run away. Thus he never will learn to respect us." He yells at me. That's enough. I won't allow him anymore to scream his rage about other things into my face.

"Don't yell at me. We're all stressed out by this situation, but it doesn't give you the right to blame me for everything which went wrong. We all have to accept that getting Ryan settled in our family isn't as easy as we thought it would be." I say.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I … I don't know what has gotten into me. I'm sure he'll come back. Last night he also came back on his own. Maybe he really needs some space after telling you what he really feels." My husband admits. We're both looking for anything that makes us calm – taking the fear something might have happened to him or he might never come back again.

"Hey folks, uh…I don't wanna scare you or anything, but…it looks as if he doesn't plan to come back again." Our son says, interrupting the strained silence. My head snaps into his direction.

"What did you say?" I ask him.

"That…it seems that he doesn't plan to come back…some of his cloths are missing." My son repeats.

"No, that's not possible. Maybe the missing cloths are in the laundry." I say. I don't want this to be true, because if it was, it will be the prove of that we failed.

"Uhm…I.…don't think so. Rosa did laundry yesterday and…" I don't listen to him anymore and storm into the room to see it with my own eyes. Why haven't I noticed that he had planed this? Why didn't I notice that…this was his last apology before leaving?

"My God." It slips out of my mouth. There are two trousers missing, two t-shirts and some of his wifebeater. He had left all cloths I bought for him. Why haven't I noticed?

"Why would he leave?" My husband asks.

"Because it's too much for him. His father's death, us making him open up to us and touching sore points, and added to that trying to make him part of our family. He can't handle this." I answer. I can imagine how he must feel, after he had been honest to me. It's only unimaginable for us.

"Dad, you need to find him." Our son starts begging.

"You're right. I go and drive through Newport. He's on his own. He can't be come too far." My husband forgets that we're talking about an actually quite smart boy and I doubt he has no plan how to leave this place. My God! How bad have I failed – we? We couldn't even make him feel comfortable enough to stay at our house. He hadn't accepted this place as his home.

"And I call round, maybe he's at someone's." I suggest.

"Mum, forget it. Marissa and Summer are both in France. Despite me he hasn't more friends than that." My son reminds me. But I need to do something. I can't sit and wait.

"And shell I do then?" I ask.

"Call the cops?" My son suggests and I ask myself why I didn't come to the idea.

"Please don't. Ryan's still on probation. If we call the cops and they find out he run he's back in juvies." My husband says. Fact: my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do. Worse of all: it feels as if this is only my fault. I have been home. I have talked to him. I have seen him running and I decided not to follow him and now? We probably will never see him again. We lost him, due to my inability to stand up against his rebellion.

"Sandy, we need to find him." It's the only thing I can say.

"And we will." He says and then takes the car keys and leaves.

My son and I go into the kitchen. I need a tea to calm down again.

"Do you want something for dinner?" I ask my son. It's already after seven. We eat at seven usually. I can't break my son's habits due to this incident.

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry." He says.

"Me neither." I admit.

"What happens, when Dad doesn't find him?" My son asks and his sad face tells me, I rather shouldn't answer him. But I can't treat him like a five year old anymore.

"Well then, we have to accept that he's gone and that we weren't able to help him." I answer.

"I know, this sounds stupid, but I don't wanna lose him…he's…he's like a brother for me."

"That's not stupid honey." I tell him and take him into my arms. I not only comfort him. It's comforting to me, when I realize that at least my own son allows me to take him into my arms.

"Why can't he accept us as his family?" He starts asking me.

"It's in his past. He never has had a real family and he never has learned…to trust someone enough, as he could accept us as his family."

"Was it that bad? I mean…he doesn't make the impression of being…broke or something." Not on the surface but deep down he is, I think.

"No that's true and this causes the whole problem we're faced with. We should have acted from the beginning. But we thought he would settle on his own."

"Uh…you don't start to blame yourself for this chaos, do you? Because it really sounds like that and I don't think that you should do so. You and Dad did really great. You did everything to make it easier for him. I don't think it's your fault and I don't think Ryan thinks so. You and Dad really mean something to him. He…just doesn't know how to handle all these new feelings. As you've said he never has had those before and now we expect him to handle all this just like that? The problem is that he never learned how to cope with such feelings and not that you've failed." I'm surprised how mature my son can seem, when he starts to talk like that.

"Don't look at me like that. I know I'm the talker and Ryan's the listener, but I also can listen to his barley spoken words."

"You're very close friends, are you?"

"We're supposed to be brothers. I…when Dad comes back with him in tow I won't even talk one word to him again. He needs to notice how fucked up his behaviour is, no matter how bad his past had been."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we need to show him that he can't punish us for what the others have messed up." I say and put an arm around him.

The rest of the evening my son and I remain waiting and talking, making plans how to convince Ryan from our idea of family. We get disturbed by the phone ringing. I pick up.


	17. Homesick in the Rain

_**Homesick in the Rain**_

**T**his isn't the nicest way to say thank you. But I already caused so much hurt and damage I owe them this. They need their peaceful and ideal family life back. I'm only an intruder. I'm disturbing everything with my inability to adapt to something like a family. Not that I don't want to be a part of their family. They really mean something to me. I'm just unable to…give my emotions the space they need, so I can show them. I never have felt for any other person that way. Not even for my father. They're touching my sore points and I don't know how long I could bear it. They're touching them just by the way they're treating me…just by understanding and…comforting and being patient. If they at least could yell at me when I messed it up. But they don't. What means I owe them answers – answers I don't even have. I owe them the truth, what's going on with me. But I can't open up to them. Or better I can't give them more than I already did. It is too much. I already trusted them too much. I have to leave, because I'm afraid to open up even more to them. The longer I would stay the more I would tell them and the more I would let my guard down. I only would allow them more and more to read me and that's what I'm afraid of.

Now I'm standing at the side of the street and wait for a car to take me away. I don't bother where to. I only want to leave this place. I'm too afraid to settle here. It won't last long and I would be on my own again anyway. So why not already now? No I don't trust them. A car stops in front of me.

"Hey kid, need a ride?" The man inside says. I nod. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Only out of this place." I say the man nods and opens the door of the passenger side.

"Hop in." He says and I get in.

"I'm Dan." The man says. He's maybe somewhere in his twenties.

"Ryan." I introduce myself. I only hope he's not nosey or too talkative. I watch the street lights pass by. It's curious. I don't even have the feeling as is if I would miss this place here. I'm running from my problems and yes, I know it's not the best solution, but it's the only one I know. What else shell I do? Break or melt down? I can't. This wouldn't be me. And nobody is supposed to get that close to me as if I would do so anyway. I have to leave. I hurt them with my rejection and they hurt me with their attempt to make me open up to them. This is no condition. Well, okay they don't want to hurt me. At least this is what they tell me. Do I believe them – did I believe them? I didn't. I was too afraid of it. Believe means trust and trust means … let my guard down to make them see what's going on inside of me. If I wanted to trust them, I needed to tell them what was hindering me to do so. And with that I would lay myself open to an attack. Shit. I'm really fucked up and I wish I was more like Seth. Damn. This was the first place I didn't need to be afraid of getting my ass kicked, meet a drunken mother or some guys who had some pervert plan up on their mind. Shit. This was the first place where someone really cared and what am I doing? I hate myself for this. Why can't I take this chance? Why can't I adapt to this new life? This is what…I used to wish for – just with me biological parents in Sandy's and Kirsten's place. But in somehow it was what I wanted. And I can't take it? I'm screwed. They were right trying to make me seeing a shrink. Hell, they know I don't like to talk to someone about my…feelings. I can't even talk to them about it, so what made them think I could to a complete stranger? I already 'trusted' them more than I did someone else. And as well when you can't call it trust it's already more I allowed them than I allowed anyone before. Shit. My thoughts don't make any sense. My head's a mess, my emotions too. I'm a mess.

"So where do you plan to go?" Dan asks me.

"As I've said, just away from here." I try politely to tell him I'm not in any mood for a conversation.

"Away from Newport Beach? Are you kidding?"

"No." Unfortunately I'm not.

"Wow, that's rough. What can happen that bad that one flees from paradise?" Nothing happened. Or I happened.

"Just don't match here." I answer him. Not even after all these months I'm able to feel like I belong here. The only place I felt more welcome than in the rest of Newport, was the pool house and its main house. Yes, right now I have the feeling as if I want to run back.

"Does anyone? Believe me everyone here is playing a role. Deep down nobody feels as if he fits in." Well, I know this sentence. And yes this someone was there right now. Shit. I already miss them. I want to go back and talk to him. Tell him what's going on, what's bothering me inwardly. I want to tell him everything. But I can't. I never would be able to. I never was able to. Why now?

"Okay you don't like this topic. Sorry." He apologizes and then gives me back my silence. It's already dark and heavy clouds arise at the sky. It looks like it's going to rain – okay here it's going to pour.

"So, do you have any interests?" Dan starts again.

"Nope."

"I don't believe you." I start to think about something and there's only one thing coming up in my mind.

"Sudoku." And this answer makes my heart ache. I want to go back. I want her to take me in her arms, tell me that everything will be okay again. I want her to talk to me. Tell me something, just this something. I want to sit on the bed in the pool house with her and trying to solve one of these puzzles.

"Oh, okay. Not one man for adventure and action, what?" I had enough action in my life. I don't need any more. But the time of a quiet life is over. Now the action starts again. And yes, I already miss this quietness.

"I hope you don't leave a girl behind. They can develop from princess into monster in no second." Shit. But she'll find someone else. To be honest: it was only a matter of time until we end up separated. I'm sure after she comes back from France she'll realize that she's fed up with me. But I'm sure I'll never find someone else. She was the first and she's still the only one I love. I never felt for someone like that. I'm an asshole. I leave her without letting her know. That's not fair. I never would do so. But that's exactly what I'm doing right now. Shit. I'm an asshole and not better than those guys who dated my Mum. I just piss off. I didn't even give her the chance to hinder me from that. I didn't even talk to her about this. And that's what we called a relationship? That sounds wrong. I wasn't honest enough to her. I didn't tell her, although she had wanted to know and I'm sure she would have listened. She never would have judged me. I could have told her about my feelings – that I feel uncomfortable when the Cohens tried to behave like parents toward me. She rather would have tried to help me. But I didn't let her help me. I can't let her. It's my fault I know that. But I can't correct this mistake, because the mistake it's me.

A thunder out of the sudden pulls me out of my thoughts – I flinch - and within a second it starts to pour. I watch the sky. It's dark – black. Only the lightning reminds me of that I'm on earth and not underneath.

"Wow I call that a weather." Dan says. I only nod. With every thunder I flinch again. It's embarrassing. I try not to let Dan know that I'm afraid of thunder and lightning. Hell, but I am and yes, I wish I was in the main house now. No matter how foul the weather outside is, it was always cosy – is always cosy. I never felt afraid like now, when I was in there while thunderstorm. It's raining worse and worse.

"Okay buddy, I'll stop at the roadside. I can't see anything." Dan says. I agree with him. We stop at a traffic light. It takes long for it to jump on green – very long. It's the last traffic light in Newport. After this crossroad I'll have left Newport Beach. After this crossroad I'll leave me life behind – the second time. Again I'll have to start from new. Again it's me on my own. I haven't thought it was going to be that hard. I didn't bother leaving my Chino-life behind. Why do I bother now? I have to fight, holding back my tears. Shit. I never cry. Why now? It is my decision to leave. There's no reason to cry. I don't want to cry. I want to leave this place. It's dangerous for me. I start to trust this place – letting my guard down. I can't do that. They could hurt me again. It would be too easy to break me. I sigh. This crossroad is my last chance to leave this place. I don't want to take this chance. But I have to. I'm causing too much trouble. They pay too much attention to me and my problems. They should pay this attention to their son, not to some rotten thing like me. I want to give them back their peace. They deserve it. They're great people and they're working so hard, trying so hard helping others. They should get their time back. They need their time to be the family again they used to be, before I intruded it. I know they tried to make me a part of their family. But it would never work. I never would be able to trust them enough for that.

I look out of the window. It doesn't take long and Dan finds a parking lot. We wait for the rain to ease off, but it seems as if it's getting worse. A sign? Shut up! I don't believe in things like that.

"Uh…I go to get a coffee, do you want some?" I ask Dan. I'm freezing. No wonder. I don't know when had been the last time I had eaten something properly.

"Oh, yes. That would be great." He says and I jump out of the car. When I arrive at the coffee shop, my cloths are soaked with rain and this after an only six seconds run. Hell, why does it always have to rain, when I try to leave them? I get the coffee and step out of the shop. A black BMW passes me. I don't pay attention to it. Why should I? This is still Newport and…Shit.

"Ryan!" He calls after me. This was not supposed to happen. No, no, no. I run to Dan's car. Since when is he running after me? Ouch. He grabs my arm.

"Oh no kid. You aren't going anywhere, than this car." He's angry. Oh shit. How should I have known that they start to search for me…in whole Newport? Why for me? I try to get my arm free from his grip, but that's impossible. Fact: I never want to get aware of his physical punishment measures.

"Mister, I guess you better leave the boy alone." Dan comes out of the car. Yes, I can say this is embarrassing.

"Who are you?" Sandy asks him. Oh fuck.

"That's not important."

"Okay, then I'll tell you who I am. I am the father of this boy and I have no clue what you had up on your minds, but I know that this boy is now coming with me." I flinch at his harsh spoken words.

"But the boy obviously doesn't want to go back with you." Dan goes on. Fuck.

"Listen carefully, I'm his father…"

"Foster." It slips out of my mouth. And no, I haven't thought about what I was saying.

"That's enough, you come with me. No further discussion." He pulls me to his car. Yes, he's angry. Oh shit.

"This will have consequences." He starts the engine and hits the gas. I don't tell him that it might be better if we stop at the roadside, as the rain is that strong that you can't have a clear sight through the windscreen. I feel how the wheels loose the grip to the street from time to time and I wish he would just slow down the speed a bit.

"What the hell are you thinking every time you do this?" He screams at me. His look goes from street to me, back to the street and again to me. I'd rather prefer it if he focused on the streets which are inundated meanwhile.

"I don't understand you kid. On the one hand you tell Kirsten you don't want to hurt us and then…you're running away from us." I only shrug my shoulders. If I had an explanation for that – for me – I might be able to control my behaviour.

"Ryan, I want answers. I want you to talk to me." As usual. And about what? We all know what I've done. We all know that it was wrong.

"You can't always run away when some problems occur." I whished he hadn't said this, because I'm not able to think clear, before reacting.

"My Dad's death is just some problem?"

"Stop this! Now! This is not you Ryan and you know that!" He yells at me.

"As if anyone of you knows who I am and who not!" I shout back.

"Than why in hell don't you talk to us and let us know who you are?" He doesn't pay attention to the street anymore and I don't either.

"How? How shell I talk to you? I just can't. How often do I need to explain this to you?"

"Then start to accept our help instead of pushing us away! I for my part am fed up with your behaviour. I can't take it any longer." He still yells and then there is this very bright headlight.


	18. Nightmare

**_Nightmare_**

**A** throbbing pain in my temples drags me out of the nightmare, which had felt so damn real. I open my eyes and look out of the window. It's still raining. I explore my surrounding. This is not my bed at home. Kirsten isn't there. I'm still in the car. The windscreen is cracked. I feel something thick trickling down my face. I carefully touch my face and see the blood on my fingertips. This is no nightmare. It slowly becomes clearer in my mind that I had been driving the car, through the rain and that something bad had happened.

"Mister, are you alright?" I hear a voice. "I'm…I'm sorry…the light was red but the rain…I had no control over my…truck." He says. I look at him. Life goes in slow motion. I look to me right. The window on the passenger side is cracked too. Big pieces of glass are missing. I can clearly look through it and I only see the huge red thing of a car. My look falls onto the form that is slumped into the seat next to me. This. Was. No. Nightmare. It strikes me like lightning. I immediately unfasten my seatbelt. Bad idea. The quick movement only worsens the pain in my head.

"Mister…you shouldn't move that much. You could be server injured." The man – the driver of the other car – says. I don't pay attention to him. When I'm free from my seat belt I lean over the form.

"Hey, Ryan…kid…are you okay?" I ask him. His head is turned away from me, but I don't dare to move it. He looks limp. Oh please God, don't. I beg. I never would be able to forgive myself…why…I shouldn't have been that hard towards him.

"Ryan…kid, just give me a sign you're okay." I beg. His chest is still moving. This brings a glimmer of relieve.

"mmm" I hear him groan.

"Can you hear me?"

"mmm" Is everything I get from him. Shit. This can't be true. This wasn't supposed to happen. I…I drove after him because I didn't want to lose him and…now this?

"Can…can you try and look at me?" I don't know whether this is a good idea or not, but I need to see these eyes. I need to see that he's okay. His head slowly turns to me. It seems as if the whole missing glass of the passenger side window is sticking in the right side of his face. I'm shocked by this look.

"Just open your eyes for me." I told him, brushing through his hair. I see how he slowly opens his eyes. I see how he struggles.

"That's good kid." I see into these blue eyes again.

"We need to get out of the car. Do you think you can manage it?" I ask him.

"Hope…so." He answers slowly and silent. I watch him how he unfasten his seatbelt – carefully and slowly. He can move. I'm sure it only looks worse than it is and that we will be all at home this night again. I'm glad that I can open the door to my side.

"Ryan, c'mon."

"I…can't open the door." He answers. Only now I realize this was the side the truck ran into us.

"Okay, just stay calm. I help you." I say and run to his side. It's awfully rumpled, but I pull at the door. Nothing.

"Can you try to get out on the other side?" I hope I don't ask for too much, but we have to get out of this…former called car. I see how he prop himself on the centre console. I'm glad he's such a tough kid. But then he shakes his head.

"Can't…leg's…jammed." Fuck! I can't freak out now. I need to stay calm for him.

"Mister, the ambulance and fire department are on their way." The man says. At least one gleam of hope.

"Did you hear that? Just stay calm. I'm sure they get you out soon." He's not admitting it to me, but his eyes tell me that he's scared to death.

"It's not like I have another choice, or?" He replies. I go back to the driver's side and sit down next to him.

"Does…anything hurt?" I ask. I know it's a useless question, but an instinct demands me to make him stay awake.

"A little…but I'm fine." I would laugh about this, because it's so Ryan to say this. But this situation is everything else than a funny one.

"Don't even think I believe you." I only answer him and earn a lopsided smile. Maybe it's not that bad. It can't be that bad, if he still behaves like this or? I can hear the ambulance coming and soon I can see the blue lights.

"Hear this? Only a few minutes more and you're out of this." I encourage him to hang on. His face – or better that part that's not sliced into pieces due the glass – is pale and it looks as if he gets paler with every second.

"Hello, I'm Paul. Can you tell me your name and what happened?" A paramedic arrives at the car.

"I'm Sandy Cohen…I…don't know what happened, it went too fast." I answer.

"Alright Mr. Cohen. Are you in pain?" Why does he ask me? I only suffer a laceration. Nothing more. They should care for my son first place.

"No…only my head…listen, my son…"

"Don't worry about that. We'll take care of him." How am I able not to worry? My son's bleeding like hell and is trapped in this wrack.

"But…he's trapped…his leg…"

"Mr. Cohen, just calm down. Can you leave the car?"

"No…I mean yes…but I'm not going to leave my son here alone." I can't leave him here. There had been too many people leaving him alone. I need to be there for him, to get him through this.

"Don't worry my partner is taking good care of your son. You know what, we just have a look at your head and then you can come back. Is it okay with you?" No it isn't. I don't want to leave him for a second, but I also know that I need to stay rational.

"Don't worry kid, I'm back in five minutes." I say to him, but get no real response. I get out of the car and get my wound treated. I can't take my look off of the car. If I had known what'll happen, I never had been that rude towards the boy. Hell, I'll never be able to forgive myself if the kid doesn't make it. But I drive this thought away. There's no way that he's not going to make it. He's Ryan, he's supposed to hang on and get through this. At least I think that to keep up some hope.

The paramedic is done with my wound. I've had luck, he tells me. If he knew. I don't consider it as luck, watching how my son is trapped in a car wrack, his face covered with dry blood. This is no luck.

"Why does it take so long to get my son out of the car?" I ask the paramedic. I have a bad feeling in my guts and it tells me that we can't wait any longer to get him out. It's one of these parental instincts. Although you don't know anything, you feel that your child is in a bad shape.

"Sorry, but the fire department is on its way." The paramedic tells me. That's what I was told an hour ago. I go back to the car and sit down next to my son. He has his eyes closed. He looks miserable. There's an IV in the vein on the back of his hand.

"We need to stabilize is circulation." The paramedic says. He stays next to my son, always checking on him. It makes me nervous. It shows me that my feeling tells me the truth. If they think it's necessary to watch him due the whole time, then they have found something worrying, but don't tell me. And I'm glad, because without knowing what's exactly wrong with my son, I can stay calm.

"Hey kid, how are you?" I ask him and put a hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes and looks at me.

"Better." He says.

"We've given him something against the pain." The paramedic next to him explains me. At least he doesn't have to suffer unnecessarily.

"I'm sorry." I start to talk to him. I need to tell him this. I have to tell him that he has to hang on, because there are people who won't be able to cope with… I can't go on with this thought.

"No…don't… apologize." He replies.

"But I have to. What I said wasn't right. I…I only…I'm worried about you and worse of all I feel helpless, because I don't know what to do to make you feel better…to make you trust us." I owe him answers. I can't only ask for his motives without telling him mine.

"'s 'kay." He says. His voice is low and I see that he's exhausted.

"No Ryan, it's not." There is this one thing I want to tell him, but I'm afraid of overstepping this boarder.

"As long as we aren't able to make you feel like a part of our family, it's not okay." I explain him.

"'s not… your fault. 's my fault…'m too screwed up, to…no matter… how bad I want to…be part of your family…just can't…something's…blocking me…or…dunno." He mumbled and my heart starts to ache, when I listen to this.

"But why do you run away instead of letting us help you?"

"Don'…wanna…hurt you anymore…don't deserve this." He doesn't want to tell me that he thinks he has to run away to make us feel better or?

"I agree in one thing: you're really screwed." I tell him. "How can you think it's not hurting us, when you leave instead of staying? Ryan, we're there to get you through this and we will, no matter how hard you try to reject us." He needs to feel what he means for us. He doesn't respond anymore. His eyes are closed again.

"Ryan?" I ask him. Don't do this to me.

"mmm." He groans. I take his hand. If he is too tired to listen to what I'm saying, he still can feel that I'm there.

"Just hang on." I tell him. "I'm not leaving." But I get no reply and the paramedic's concerned expression doesn't remain unnoticed by me. My hope to have my whole family around me at home this night shatters.

I don't know how long it takes until the fire department arrives and is ready to get my son out of the wreck. They hand me a blanket to cover my son and me, so the rescue manoeuvre doesn't inflict more injuries to us.

"Ryan, I just have to pull you a little more at my side, okay?" I tell him. He hadn't made any noise since hours – that's what it feels like.

"Just stay calm, only a few more minutes and your son is safe." A paramedic ensures me. The noise of an angle grinder cutting through metal shrills in my ears. I hold him tight, as tight as I can. As if I could make anything better through this. And then there's one loud noise, the one of flexing metal.

"Okay, now we can get him out." Someone says and I put the blanket down. His head's leaning against my shoulder – limp. I touch his cheek, but…the skin…it doesn't feel as it should feel. They carefully pull his upper body out of the car and with a crack – a noise that makes me sick – he's out of the car. I immediately jump out and run to his side. Bad mistake. He's lying on a stretcher. The trouser of his right leg is tainted in red, as well as the right side of his face. I see how one paramedic his checking for a pulse and than everything goes too fast for me to witness. The paramedic shakes his head. I don't want to believe this.

"Ryan!" I call out. I want to get through to him, but they hold me back.

"Leave me alone, I need to get to my son!" I scream. I only can scream now.

"Please, you have to calm down. I promise they're doing everything in their power to help your son." I feel so helpless. I feel so fucking helpless. It's my entire fault. He would be alive, if I hadn't forced him with me. I shouldn't have yelled and shouted at him, but paid attention to the street. It's my entire fault. I only wanted to safe him. I only wanted to show him his family, instead I ruined it all. I listen to all these words shouted around, but I don't understand any of them. I'm paralyzed. Everything is out of my hands and I'm not used to it. I'm used to have everything under control. I'm always the one controlling everything. There never had been things I wasn't able to fix. This boy is the first one who teaches me I'm not almighty. I'm not sure whether I should hate him for that or if I should be grateful to realize I'm still a human-being. I notice busy activity. I see how paramedics hysterically roll the stretcher with my son on it into the ambulance. With all these people and…things surrounding him, I wouldn't notice that it was him…No, I always would notice it. I see how his limp body lies there, without motion. They had to cut open his t-shirt, his trousers. I definitely won't have my family around me at my home this night. This hope is gone.

"We'll rush your son to the hospital." A paramedic tells me.

"Can I go with him?"

"No. I suggest you drive with me. Someone should have a further look at the laceration of yours."

"But…" My head is blank. All emotions and thoughts are gone and now I only want to know that my son will be alright again.

"Your son is in good hands." He isn't. He never will as long as I'm not with him. I watch the ambulance with my son in it driving off. My heart clenches. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't planned. He wasn't supposed to be carried away in an ambulance, but doing some heavy brooding in his room, after we have talked about his attempt to run. He is supposed to sit at our dinner table mute and in thoughts. He is supposed to challenge us with his rejection. He's supposed to play videogames with Seth and…just try to have his privacy.

"I…I need to call my wife. She needs to know what had happened." It strikes me. My wife will go postal when she finds out I'm the reason for one of our sons being in hospital – server injured.

"Okay, we'll take care of it." The man says and guides me to the car.


	19. Unable to prevent

_**Unable to prevent**_

**T**he call had shaken my world and I'm not sure if it will ever be the same again. I'm waiting in the ER for a sign from my husband or my son. But nothing. I'm living through every mother's and wife's worse nightmare.

"They'll be okay, I'm sure." My son says. He tried to stay optimistic and that's healthy. But after the phone call I'm not that sure about this anymore.

"Mrs. Cohen?" A doctor comes towards us. I'm afraid what he has to tell me. No matter if it was my husband or my son.

"Yes?" I get up.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Stevson. I only wanted to tell you that you can take your husband home now." I feel relieve spreading through my body.

"So, he's okay?"

"Technically yes, besides a light concussion and a laceration he's fine."

"But?" I ask him. The word technically uses to mean something bad.

"Well, he's still in shock, not able yet to handle what had happened. Thus I suggest you go home and let him rest. We've administered some sedatives and pain killers and I'll give you some home, so he'll be able to rest. He should at least stay at home for one week and take it easy for the next few weeks." The doctor tells me. And how my husband will rest. I won't allow him any movement. He won't even leave the house.

"Can we go to him?" My son asks.

"Of course. He's in this room." The doctor points at a door, across from us. But there was something missing and panic makes my heart heavy again.

"Doctor, do you…do you know something about my son?" I ask him.

"Sorry I have no information on that." He says and then leaves us.

My son and I enter the room. My husband sits, fully dressed on a gurney. As soon as we'll arrive at home I'll throw these cloths away. These are only reminders of an evening I never want to live through again. Unfortunately it's not over yet, because one is still missing.

"Hey honey, how are you?" I ask him, when I step to his side. His eyes are blank…no, not blank. There are too many emotions that I could tell what they say to me.

"Oh God Kirsten." He says, gets up and takes me into his arms. It feels as if he never wants to let me lose again and I appreciate this feeling, because I never want to let him lose again either.

"Is okay Sandy. Everything will be okay." I tell him. My son steps at our side and rubs my husband's back. It's strange to see how mature your child can be in situations like this one. Instead of freaking out – what would have been understandable – he remains calm and tries to be there for us. It feels wrong in somehow, because I'm used to be there for him. I don't want him to witness this. I want to protect him from this, but I can't.

"Nothing is okay. It's my fault. I was driving…I…I didn't pay attention to the street, but…screamed at him. Oh God, Kirsten if…if he…"

"Shhh, don't even think of that. He's going to be okay." I soothe him. I feel how my top gets soggy. I never have seen him crying before and I never want to see it again. Seeing him cry is like every hope is gone.

"Dad, this wasn't your fault. It was an accident…just a stupid accident and this wasn't even your fault. If the other driver hadn't ran the red light this accident wouldn't have happened. Do you listen? This is not your fault. You couldn't have done anything to prevent this, despite stopping at a green light, but nobody does so, because it's stupid and green means you can drive. Nobody could have foreseen that the other driver will run this red light." My son starts to sooth him too. I smile at him. I'm glad having him with me, because I'm not able to speak so many words in a row right now.

"I…just shouldn't have gone after him." He says.

"Sure and then? Ryan would be gone and we would have nearly the same situation. Everybody blames himself for what had happened and nobody is helped with that." My son answers and he's right.

"Do you want to go home?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"I…I can't go Kirsten. I have to stay here."

"Honey, the doctor said you need to go home and rest. I'll stay here and as soon as I know something about Ryan, I'll call you." I tell him.

"C'mon Dad, I get you home." My son says and takes his father's arm.

"Thanks." I reply. Then I go back and wait. It feels like an eternity. I'm nervous. The more hours pass the worse can be the news what's wrong with my son.

"Mrs. Cohen?" Another doctor comes to me. I get up.

"Yes?" I'm anxious and I can't hide it.

"I'm Dr. Brandon."

"Did you…treat my son?" I ask. He nods, grabs my arm gently and leads me to a quiet and empty room.

"Well, I don't want to beat around the bush. Your son suffered from several internal injuries. We had to remove his spleen. His right kidney also is very bad injured. We don't know if we can safe it." Oh God. My legs feel like jelly. They start to shake. The doctor leads me to a couch. I sit down.

"He lost a lot of blood due these injuries. We had to place him in an artificial coma, as he's not stable right now." The news gets worse and worse. I only want to take my son home with me.

"There's something else I have to tell you. He has some broken ribs, but they shouldn't make any trouble. We're more concerned about his leg. It is badly fractured at several places. As well as his thighbone as the bone of the lower leg is fractured. Is hip bone and his pelvis are fractured too. I'm glad to say that his pelvis isn't broken into pieces otherwise it could have done a lot of bad damaged to the arteries around. But this hadn't happened so we don't need to worry about that. But on the top of that his knee is dislocated due the rescue. We had been able to place it again in its origin position, but there's a lot of damaged done too." Oh. My. God.

"The force due the crash must have been that immense. I'm sorry."

"And…what…are you going to do about this?"

"Unfortunately we can't do anything about it yet. Your son isn't stable enough for this yet and I'd prefer an expert having a look at it. But we need to hurry if we want to achieve a complete recovery, especially regarding his knee. But we have to wait until he's stable enough for this kind of surgery."

"So you want to tell me that,… if he makes it, what isn't sure for now… he might lose the ability to use his leg." I can't think clear at the moment. I only feel the urge to take my son into my arms and take him home with me.

"In somehow yes. I'm sorry for this news, but I promise we do everything in our power to safe your son and I already called someone who could help with his leg. Please don't lose faith."

"Can…can I see him?" I'm close to tears. But I can't. Not now. I have to be strong, for my sons and for my husband. I have to get them through this and I will.

"Of course." The doctor leads me to the sterile quarters of the ICU. My heart is pounding in my chest, as if it wants to escape. At least that's what I feel: I want to escape. This one night had shaken my world of our perfect life. I witness how vulnerable our family is.

I enter the room. The silence is disturbed by annoying beeping and other mechanical noises. If I wasn't told that this limp form in this bed was my son, I would think it was someone else. I step closer to him and wince when I see his face. The right side is strewn with small and bigger cuts. It was nearly impossible to find some uninjured skin among them. I ignore the tube that had been inserted in his throat, as well as the fact that it means that he's even too weak to breathe on his own.

"Oh, sweetie." I whisper and gently strike over his cheek. He looks so fragile. It was a fact that he was. I knew it from the very beginning we took him in, but seeing it was worse than only suspecting it.

"You'll be okay, I promise." I tell him, hoping he feels that I'm there. I'm too afraid he might feel lonely and give up over that. I take his hand. It's cold. It uses to be warm, but not now. I stroke his cheek. It's cold too. I give him a kiss onto his forehead, hoping he feels in somehow how much he means to me – to us. I'm so afraid he might give up. He had been so awfully despaired and depressed. I can't predict whether he has the will to live anymore.

"Mrs. Cohen, I'm afraid but I have to ask you to leave now." What now? I only saw him for what feels like a lonely second. I don't want to leave him. I want to stay with him. He needs me. I need him. I can't leave now.

"Can't I stay, just five more minutes?" Why do I ask this man, whether I can stay with me son? I have a right to stay with him.

"Mrs. Cohen, you can't do anything in the moment. It's better when you go home and rest and take care of your husband. Your foster son will need both of you, when he wakes up." The doctor says. Foster son. Right this is what everybody says and reads. Nobody ever comes to the idea that it emotionally feels like he is my own son.

"Mrs. Cohen, please. It'll be better, even for him. He needs all rest he can get to get through this." Reluctantly I leave his hand. I give him a peck on his forehead, knowing well he wouldn't allow me so, if he was awake. But he isn't.

"I'll be back tomorrow." I tell him. It's stupid to talk to him. But it gives me a feeling of security and I need this. I'll have to bring this news to my husband and I'm afraid of how he'll react on this. He had been so broke about this.

"Mrs. Cohen?" The doctor asks me once again and I turn to the door. When I stand in the frame I look back once again. I have a strange feeling. It's like a strong bond is holding me. I'm afraid to leave. It feels like something awful will happen every second if I left. It's the usual maternal instinct that tells you, your son is hurt, although you're in the office and he's at school. But when you're at home you see that he had scratched his knee. I step out the door. A screaming noise makes me stop. I turn around. It's not Ryan, but those things surrounding him. I want to run back to him, but a nurse holds me back. The beeping had changed into a permanent scream and I don't know what this is supposed to mean. No, I don't want to allow its meaning only entering my mind.

"You can't go in there now." She says and rubs my upper arm. Within a second the room is flooded with white coats. Too many voices are screaming too many words I don't understand, but I only want to know what's happening to my son.

"What's…what's happening in there?" I ask the nurse.

"Sorry I don't know. I only know that your son is in very good care." Of course she says that. She has to say that. Anything else and I would move the earth only to get my son somewhere else. Things rush by and then Dr. Brandon comes back to me.

"I want to go to my son, now!" I scream. There was something wrong. He needs me.

"Mrs. Cohen, I'm sorry, but…" And then everything is one blur. He tells me detailed what had happened. What had caused…oh my baby. I don't even notice when they guide me to the waiting area to sit down. I don't even notice to sit down. My body is trembling. They call a taxi. I have to go home. They guide me to the taxi and help me to get into it. My legs feel like jelly and if I didn't sit, I would break down every second. Even when I sit I have the feeling of breaking down every second. How to tell my husband? How to tell my son? I have no clue. This is too much for me and I can't hold back my tears anymore. I know I have to be strong for them. But I can't. I can't handle this. Not this. I'll never be able to. I'm weak and helpless. I couldn't have done anything to prevent this. What kind of mother am I? I wasn't able to prevent this. How am I able to live with this? I haven't even notices how fragile he is. If I had, I'd done something, anything to…prevent this. I just ignored the fact that he isn't strong enough – that he is exhausted and way too tired. How am I able to live on with this thought? How am I able to live with the fact that a family is a fragile and vulnerable thing, breaking apart by the slightest vibration?

* * *

** A/N.: END?**


	20. Awakening

**A/N.: **I'm thinking about refusing to up date, as nobody allows me to kill Ryan. I only want to kill him a tiny little bit. Where's the problem? ;) Well as I'm not allowed to write a deathfic (once again) the next chapter will be M rated, just in case you looking for this story and can't find it.

* * *

_**Awakening**_

**I **feel numb. The world around me is a blur and I don't realize what's actually happening to me. Sometimes my surrounding is bright – nearly white and then again it turns into black. Sometimes I have the feeling as if there was someone, but then again I'm alone somewhere in the depth of black. If they think I don't feel anything, they'd been wrong. I feel every hand on my body, but in somehow I'm unable to fight them. I don't know what they are doing to me and I'm not sure whether I want to. Most times everything's black around me. Only sometimes I can feel or hear something. I don't emerge from where I am. I just stay. I don't even feel the urge to emerge from my black place. Do I like it? I can't say that, because I don't recognize how it is, when I'm there in the blackness. I don't like the bright white. It's bothering me. Thus I should say I like the blackness. It doesn't bother me that much. Sometimes I hear voices and it feels as if someone was talking to me. But no one ever talks to me, thus it's clear the voices aren't meant for me. Sometimes it even feels as if someone touches me…gently…in a loving way. This must be a dream. Nobody every touches me, without hurting me. Never. But most time I don't recognize anything. Don't ask, what this is supposed to mean. I don't care. I just take it as it is. I only know I have been in worse places. It could be much worse. So this is okay. It's curious it doesn't even get boring. I don't want to go somewhere else. I rather like this state and this blackness.

Unfortunately this blackness gets disturbed by more and more white. The noises get louder around me and the touches become more intensive than I like them to be. Every time I'm back in my blackness I'm glad. I don't want to hear anything, because it can't be anything good. It's always yelling, screaming, bad words I don't want to hear and sentences I don't want to listen to. I don't want to feel anything, because it can't be anything good. It's always hurting when someone touches me. It uses to leave bruises and scars on my body – from cuts that bleed awfully. I don't want to see anything, because it can't be anything good. It's always the same depressing surrounding telling you there's no hope left. It's usually people fighting each other. No I don't want anything of that anymore. I want my blackness, but it feels as if it becomes rare and the blur starts to leave. I understand what they're saying, but I can't respond to it. I start to see something, without seeing or noticing what it is – it's still too blurry. I start to notice where they touch me and once in a while I'm able to fight them. I only wait to slip back into darkness.

When I start to emerge from my blackness again, I still feel numb, but the blur vanishes.

"Hey sweetie." I hear a voice and I understand it. I feel someone is touching me cheek, carefully. Hey, I know it's someone.

"C'mon sweetie, open your eyes." A female voice says and I have the feeling as if I know this voice, but I'm not sure. It slowly is getting brighter around me. My surrounding is still a little blurry, but a striking pain pulls me out of all blur and numbness. I grit my teeth.

"Honey, are you in pain?" The female voice asks and I turn my head towards her voice. And there she sits. Why does she still care after all I've done to her? I hurt her the worse way I could hurt someone and she's still there. Why?

"Kirsten?" I only ask. My voice is hoarse. It's difficult to speak. I can't get my head around why she's still here.

"Hey sweetie. How are you?" I don't want to think about this right now, but the pain is getting worse with every millisecond.

"Not…good." Is what I manage to say through me gritted teeth. Oh shit. I really wish I was dead right now.

"Don't worry. There's already someone on the way to help you. Just relax." She tries to sooth me? Is she kidding? She should leave me alone and let me getting tortured by this…no. I don't start to feel sick that would be too embarrassing. I just can't. But I can't repress it either. The urge to retch grows and with it the pain in my body and I have to clue what's worse, not what's causing all this.

"Oh God, Ryan, do…do you need to throw up?" She asks me. Do I look already that green? And then I just can't hold back anymore. My body bursts into unbearable pain and it's way too worse as if I could keep my stomach contents. Fortunately Kirsten is fast enough to hand me a bowl. Throwing up in front of her is already bad. But I don't want to imagine how embarrassing it would be if I had thrown up on the … I can't think on. My stomach aches and I have to concentrate on the bowl in front of me. After what feels like hours my stomach calms down again. For the first time I'm aware of my surrounding and even more aware of the pain in my entire body. What the hell is all this? I start to panic. Only now I realize there are tubes and needles attached to my body which shouldn't be there. What's wrong with me? Where am I? Am I not in the guest room in the Cohen's home? It doesn't look like that.

"Ryan, honey. Calm down. Take some deep breaths." Only now I notice my breath goes flat and fast. I try to listen to her, but I can't. I can't take deep breaths. It's hurting. Shit! I want to get rid of this pain. I have to. I can't bear it anymore. She's rubbing my back. Why's my back hurting? My back is never hurting, no matter how rough the days at the construction side had been.

"Sweetie, don…just stay calm." She tells me, but I can't. The pain is driving me insane. I can't take anymore. I need to escape. I try to rip off the tubes and needles. It feels as if all these things attached on me are causing this pain. I'm searching for relieve, but I can't find it.

"Ryan…no…don't. Leave those…" Kirsten takes one of my hands. What's going on? I never felt that miserable. I feel uncomfortable. I don't know where I am. I only know that this is no place I like to be.

"Shhh honey, soon someone is there to help you." Didn't she say that an hour ago? Oh my God! I start to feel sick again. I want to know what's wrong with me, but I can't ask.

"Hey Ryan, I'm Sandra." A woman says. I've never seen her before. Why does she know my name? Should I know her? Sandra?

"Do me a favour and lie down again. Your wounds don't like it, when you're up like that." She says. Shell I listen to her? But I.… what wounds? No, don't tell me I messed it up again. Don't tell me that I ended up in trouble again.

"Ryan, you can listen to her. Sandra only wants to help you." I feel a hand on my shoulder and someone gently pulls me down. I obey or better, my body obeys.

"That feels better, right?" She…Sandra says, but I don't agree. I watch her. I'm not sure whether I trust her…no I don't trust her. I definitely don't trust her. I see something shiny…silver…thin and long…No! I get up again. Bad idea. The pain increases again.

"Ryan I only want to give you something against the pain. Just relax, okay?" The woman says again. Kirsten takes my hand.

"Shh, is okay. Let her do her job. She's good at it." Panic. That's what my body and my head says. Pure, naked panic.

"That's it. You should feel better soon." Sandra says…why is she ruffling through my hair? I don't like that. I want to curl up on the side. I try to turn. I can't. I…why can't I move my legs…my right leg?

"Don't move. That's not good. Lie as still as possible." I don't know what Sandra had given to me, but the pain eases off fast – very fast.

"Do you feel better?" Kirsten asks me. I still don't understand why she's doing this to herself.

"What … you doing here?" I try to express my unbelieving, but silent. I don't want to touch any sore points. And what the fuck happened to my ability of speech?

"What? Ryan. I'm here for you or did you think I leave you alone with this?" I see her concerned glance and there is this one question:

"What?" I ask her. Or better I try to ask her, because talking feels so difficult. I'm still too messed up as if I could come to this answer on my own.

"There was this accident. Do you remember? Sandy…picked you up at the end of Newport. He wanted to bring you home." Immediately I remember and the scenes run through my head.

" after you…tried to run. It was raining awfully that night. A truck wasn't able to stop and ran over a red light…and then hit the car with you and Sandy." Sandy. Sandy?! Oh God. He was injured. I've seen that. He was bleeding.

"H…how's Sandy?" My heart clenches. I don't know whether I want to know that. I can't bear anymore of that.

"He's fine. A little concussion and a laceration which will leave a little scar."

"Okay?" Damn it. When I can think in full sentences I should be able to speak them.

"Yes. He's already home." Relieve spreads through my body and I'm sure whether it's the news or…

"Uh…am…is…" I don't want to say this.

"You're in hospital." Oh now. I don't like hospitals.

"Leave?" I ask, afraid of the answer.

"Not now. I can't tell you when. But I guess you need to stay a little. You're very bad injured." She again takes my hand.

"But I promise I'll get you home as soon as possible." Home? Where was home? I have no home, or? Do I? After I behaved like the world biggest asshole. No, I don't feel good. I want to leave. Now.

"Hello Ryan. Good to see you awake." A man enters the room and without knowing him, I'm sure he's a doctor and he knows my name. Not good. The feeling of discomfort worsens and if I wasn't unable to move, I'd run.

"I'm Dr. Brandon. How do you feel?" He asks me. He can't be serious or? I only shrug my shoulders, because the panic in my spine doesn't allow me to use any more words than I've already used.

"I guess that's an uncomfortable and not that good. Understandable. Does anything hurt right now?" I shake my head. I don't know why, but my body tenses up and he only uses to do so in dicey situations. Well, I consider this as dicey situation.

"Nurse Sandra had already given him something against the pain." Kirsten answers for me. Why is she still here? She could leave now. She had seen with her eyes that I'm alive and now could leave me alone with my fate.

"Okay. Did your mother tell you what had happened?" My mother? Does she really look like my mother? I don't think so. We couldn't be more different. Beauty queen and something like me? Not really liking to be related to each other or?

"I did." She answers for me again. I'm paralyzed. Oh my God. Please not!

"Did you tell him about his injuries?" No she didn't and I'm not keen on getting to listen to it. Help! This is not funny at all. I want to leave. I want this to be a bad dream. I want to wake up. Even when it means waking up in Chino at my Mum's with one of her asshole boyfriends. "Hey Ryan, what's wrong?" The man asks me. I don't look at him, because I …just can't.

"Honey, just relax." Kirsten says and gently takes my hand again. I can't relax. My body doesn't even listen to me anymore. It's like I'm a stranger in my own body. Ew, how screwed is that?

"I'll make it short, so that you can go back to sleep again. The good news, you don't suffer any back injuries. The bad, we had to remove your spleen and your right kidney." Do I want to know that? No. My heart beats hard under my chest. I just don't want that this had happened. I want to go back to start and try again, but this is nothing I want to listen to.

"You'll have to take some medication at the beginning, but later you should be able to live a quite normal life, without too many restrictions." And this is supposed to make me feel better? Far away from that. This accident had been real and I don't want it to be real. I don't want the whole last week not to be real…wait…which day was today?

"Our only concern now is your leg. The crash must have owed a lot of force, as it's broken on several places, your hipbone, pelvis, thighbone and the bone of your lower leg and on top of that your knee is dislocated." What means my leg is pretty much messed up and I'm going to be a cripple. Nice perspective. That's what I was wishing for.

"And to be honest, the stuff around here is quite helpless with this. But before you start losing all hope, we'll let an expert in this have a look at it." How not to lose hope? He just was telling me that my leg is messed up and they can't do anything about it. So, what am I supposed to do? Jump of joy? A little complicated with…a broken leg and what else is broken.

"Are there any further questions?" The man asks. I only shake my head. That was enough bad news for me. Do I want to cry about this? Yes I want. But I fight this urge.

"Alright, then I tell Sandra to come back again." The man says and then leaves.

"Sweetie, it's less bad than it sounds." She tells me. I don't believe her, because how can what the man had told me be less bad?

"You're trembling, you need to relax." She strokes over my cheek. If I could stop these tremors, I would do so. But I can't. Intimidated. That's the best description for how I feel right now. Intimidated and anxious. I don't want to be here anymore.

"Shh, is okay." She sits down on the edge of the bed and takes me into her arms. No I don't want that, but I'm not able to fight her, because I'm way too busy to fight these damn fucking tears. Hell, what am I? A fucking kid or what? I see the woman comes back in. This time she doesn't talk to me. Kirsten's arms blocking my view to what she's doing. Maybe it's better that way. I already had enough shock moments this day.

"Soon you can go back to sleep again. It's all a little much for today. But that's okay. You need to rest." She says and then leaves. What was she talking about? And why do I feel so tired right now?

"Don't fight it. You can go back to sleep. I'm there." Kirsten says on. I don't want to sleep. But what I want doesn't matter, because my eyes decide it's time to close and I'm back in my blackness.


	21. Something's broken

**A/N.:** To clearify the conclusion: the chapter in which I actually planned to kill him, but wasn't allowed to, I made Ryan finally lose his right kidney. That's all. I just like to leave some things open for some own interpretation and fantasy ;)

And a huge THANK YOU for the reviews (although I'm not allowed to kill him, but once - when nobody is paying attention - I will *hihi*)

* * *

_**Something's broken**_

"**H**ey honey." I call out, when my wife enters the house again.

"Hi." She says and kisses me. There's only one question burning in my chest and that since the accident.

"How is he?" I'm anxious. I wasn't allowed to see him yet. Stupid medical policy: you need rest. Damn, I only have a concussion. I don't need to rest. I need to be with my kid.

"Weak." My wife only answers. The circles around her eyes tell me that she's exhausted. She needs a break. I should give her some time for herself.

"Did…did he wake up?" Since the boy had been admitted to hospital he hadn't been really awake, at least that's what my wife tells me.

"Yes, a bit. He was even able to talk a bit." She tells me and I feel relieve spread through my body.

"Oh God…I…I need to see him…Kirsten I…can't stay home any longer. I need to…" He hadn't been awake for over one week now. This was a progress, or?

"Sandy, you need to rest and…honestly after all what had happened between you and him lately I don't think he can handle this right now. He's weak. Really weak. Despite they put him asleep again, that's way I'm already home." She sits down on a stool and I hand her a mug of hot steaming coffee. She buries her face in her hands. I go to her and rub her back. That's all I can do right now.

"I'm sorry." I tell her. The feeling of guilt didn't leave me since that night. I was the one who had been driving the car. I have been the one only yelling at him, without listening to what he had said – what he had wanted me to understand. Black rage had been ruling me then and it had been a mistake – my mistake.

"For what?" She asks me.

"For…you know…this …the accident." I try to explain her. I feel guilty for her exhaustion, for her moods, the tears she had been crying.

"Sandy, stop it. How often do I need to explain you that this had been an accident and it could have happened to anyone?" She replies. I don't want to hear that. I want her to scream at me, what a fucking idiot I am to drive while such a rain and endangering our kid. I want her to yell at me, if I couldn't have been more carefully. I want her to shout into my face how lousy I am as father – foster father. I want her to slap my face, not only once and telling me that all this was my fault and that I have to take the blame for it.

"But it wasn't just anyone. It was me who had been driving. Don't you understand this? It was me." Thud. She banged her hand down the kitchen counter. I flinch.

"Stop this Sandy! I don't want to listen to any of this anymore!" She now starts to yell at me. "This had been a stupid accident nobody is to be blamed for. So stop getting drowned in your self pity. I…just can't stand it anymore!" Then she buries her face in her hands again and despaired sobs tell me that she's crying. I go to her and take her into my arms. Well, yes I wanted her to yell at me. But I never knew that her voice was that loud and strong. I feel like an idiot. She was right. What the hell have I've been thinking? I only was turning around myself, but there were my sons and my wife needing me. Resting doesn't mean not being able to help them through this – to be there for them.

"I…I'm sorry." She says, disturbed by sobs.

"No, I'm sorry. You're right. I…just needed someone who tells me to come down on earth again." I kiss her forehead. It's hot from crying.

"Sandy, I'm tired. I…I don't know how I shell get him through this…I can't. I…"

"I'm there too and together we can." I assure her.

"No Sandy. I doubt we can do anything for him. As long as he's living with us we're faced with the fact that we've failed him from day to day." She has lost hope. I see it in her eyes. They're never that sad, only when she has lost hope.

"Do you have second thoughts?" I need to know how she's staying to our decision taking him in permanently.

"No! I … I want him here with us. I want my son being in his room in this house, where I can see and hear him, ever when I want to. I…I'm just…helpless. It's like he never can have a break and from day to day there are more pieces we have to pick up. I just don't think I can do this any longer." That's how I feel since months, what makes me able to feel for her.

"But we have to. We can't give up on his, because that would make everything worse." I reply. I need to give her a break. She needs my support now. Ryan will need her as well. I can't risk her to give up on him.

"I'll go to him tomorrow." I determine and I'm reluctant to let someone determine something different.

"Sandy, you need to rest. Think of your concussion." She starts to worry again. Exactly this had been the mistake. She had been taken care of our boy in the hospital and when she had come home, she had taken care of me. Now it's time that someone takes care of her and that she has some time to take care of herself.

"No, Kirsten. The only one who needs to rest right now is you. I suggest you go and relax a little in the whirlpool and I bring you a glass of chardonnay." I start to massage her neck and shoulders. Immediately I feel how her muscles relax under the touch of my hands.

"How do you do this?" She asks me.

"What?" I ask her back, without stopping my hands from massaging.

"This."

"That's the magic of being married for over twenty years."

"It feels good." She answers. The tone of her voice tells me that she doesn't want me to stop touching her. My hands slip under her pullover, reaching her breasts. I gently massage them.

"Where is our eldest son?" She asks me.

"I MAX." I whisper into her ear.

"mmm, then we have enough time." She turns around and starts kissing me. I sling my arms around her. It feels so good being kissed by her again. It feels as if life streams back into my body. It is as if the world around us stands still. She gets up, starts to unbutton my shirt. My hands slip under her pullover and I slowly take it off of her. She still wears these damn hot bras. She pulls me out the patio, taking my shirt of on the way. I let her guide me. I unbutton her trousers. The fit tight and she's still in the same shape she had been when we met at Berkeley.

"I love you, do you know that?" She breathes into my ear, while she takes off my belt and starts to take my trousers off.

"Do you?" I ask her back, unbuttoning her bra. I want to see her body in all its beauty. No cloths. They only hide, which treasure is hidden under them.

"Yes." She only says. We stumble towards the whirlpool. I step into it. She still allows me to take off her lace pants. And there she stays above me in all her beauty. I take her and lift her into the whirlpool and then our bodies melt together. I start kissing her body everywhere. The heat radiating from it makes me reluctant to stop again. I feel her hand. I touch her. Our bodies don't exist anymore. There is only this one amazing feeling. Her smooth movements and her silent moan with pleasure tells me that she feels good. I love to make her feel good, that's my job as husband and I'll never stop making her feel good. We can't get off of each other. I enjoy her. I enjoy us. The heat radiating from her body makes me giving her more. I feel her hands with which she tells me what to do to satisfy her. And I do so. I do everything she tells me. Her well shaped bum in my hands slowly moves. I pull her tighter against my body. Her hands stroke my body, every part. I want this moment of peace never to end.

"You get better with every passing year." She tells me and kisses me onto my mouth when I come back to the whirlpool with glasses and wine for us.

"And my desire to make you happy increases from second to second." I start kissing her again. She chuckles.

"We need to be careful. Our eldest will be home soon."

"And you think we should spare him…"

"Yes, we should." My wife warns me, but returns my kiss.

"Hey folks, nice to see that at least you can enjoy yourself." My son comes out the patio and his mood is worse than morose.

"Seth, I thought you'd be at the I MAX." I ask him, not paying attention to his reproach.

"I was. But I didn't like it there." He answers.

"Why? You used to like it." I answer back. It's easy to get Seth to talk about what was bothering him. Just ask enough questions and he comes out what was eating him up.

"Yes, but then I also used to be alone. But these days are gone." Oh, now I understand where the cat jumps.

"Not having Summer around is one thing, but not even being able to hang out with Ryan is just…fucked up."

"Seth!" My wife reproofs him. I can understand him. The boys were inseparable. But now they're forced to.

"Seth, just be a little patient. Ryan won't be in hospital forever." I assure him.

"Yeah, but for quite a while and I don't understand what you're doing here. I mean Ryan is in hospital. Shouldn't there someone with him? I can imagine that he doesn't feel too comfortable there." My son starts his speech and the good mood from about a few seconds ago is gone.

"Seth, your Mum goes there every day. But in the moment we can't do anything for him. Most of the time he isn't even awake, so that he notices someone is with him." I try to explain him, but feel myself how lame this sounds.

"And what's when he's awake?"

"Then someone of us is there. Seth, honey," My wife steps out of the whirlpool. Damn luck that she had time to dress into a bathing suit before our son arrived.

"Ryan is in a critical state. They put him into sleep as long as possible so that he didn't notice too much of what happens." She takes her son into her arms. Since Ryan had become – tries to become – a member of their family, she had started to be more a mother for him again. I guess I like it, because we've left our son alone for too long.

"Can I visit him?" Bang. No day without this question and no day without his son's sad face after their answer.

"Sweetie, it's still too early. You won't have much of Ryan, as he's really sleeping most of the time and I can't imagine that he'd likes you to see him like that. You know how hard he tries not to attract too much attention, plus being seen as vulnerable. And I don't want you to see these things. When you're older you'll have witness more of this than you can bear, believe me. Just wait, until Ryan's better, okay?"

"Not okay, but do I have another chance?" He only asks and then goes to his room. I only look at my wife. We both have no idea what to do, to make our son feel better about the situation. Honestly, if we can't feel any better, how are we supposed to make him feel better?

Now I sit in one of these immense uncomfortable chairs and…do nothing. It's already late morning. Every time I glance at his face, I see these awful cuts. They say there won't remain a lot scar tissue, but I don't believe them. They only talk about what's on the outside. They don't consider the scars which will remain on his soul – a soul already laced with scars. I hear a silent groan. I get a little closer to him. He's moving slightly.

"Hey kid." I say, trying to make him aware of that he's not alone. He starts blinking and his eyes open. He looks at me.

"Hey kid, how are you feeling?" I ask him in low voice. I'm unconfident in how to behave around him. I only know I can't let him see that I feel unsecure.

"Dunno." He mumbles and turns his head away. My wife was right. There's a tension between him and me.

"The doctor told me that you'll leave the ICU within the afternoon and get settled in a normal room. That sounds good, or?" He only shrugs his shoulders. I want to give him perspective. But why? And what kind of perspective? He'll never be able to move his leg, as he used to and he knows that. So why do I try to make him feel better about this. There's nothing to feel better about this. There's nothing to feel better about anyway. This is just a fucked up situation. Stop! Not now. I can't lose my composure. Not here.

"Are you just indifferent about this or are you feeling that bad, that you can't be happy about it?" Shit! This tone and this question. Not good at all. Again I'm too harsh and demanding. At least now I should behave more understanding and sensitive towards him. He doesn't make an attempt to look at me.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't want to be mean." I apologize, but there's no response coming from him.

"I'm just worried." I say. I don't know why I do so, because I don't think he's even listening to me. This one time I wish my wife had been wrong. I didn't mean to hurt him and I didn't consider what my behaviour towards him was doing to him.

"They have a doctor here, who had a look at the x-rays of your leg. He said that he might be able to do something about it." I want a response from him. Something. Anything. No matter what, but I want hear his voice. There's nothing.

"You know what? I call Kirsten. Maybe you're more comfortable when she's around." I tell him. This sounds pathetic, but what shell I do? Provoke him? I don't think that this is quite right now. I better capitulate. Maybe, when he's better I can get through to him, but I don't even think that I can do so later. There's something broken between him and me and I don't think that I can fix it again – not alone.

"Maybe you can tell me someday what's wrong between us." I say and leave him. My eldest son is right when he says that we should be there for Ryan. But I can't be there for him, because he doesn't let me. He's rejecting me. I hope my wife has more success than I. The feeling of guilt increases again. I have to dive it away. I can't allow it to grow, because what's wrong between him and me is not linked to the accident. This only had been the straw that broke the camels back. Our fights, what I said to him, maybe the slap into his face – definitely the slap into his face. All this had caused the freezing coldness. How was that possible? I'm used to be good with teenagers, why not with him? What is different about him? Is it really only the fact that he's like a son to me? I lost patience, too often, too early. That's it. I wasn't patient, although I use to be. But as my son had said: these days are over.

"Hey, how did it go?" My wife asks me, when she arrives.

"Not good." I admit and in her look I can see the: didn't I tell you?

"Maybe he's only tired. Did you tell him?"

"Yes, I told him that they'll move him to a normal room this afternoon and that this expert arrived and that he might do something about his leg. Nothing. He ignores me."

"Don't worry. I'm sure, we'll fix that again. Let him come home and you'll see things aren't as bad as you think." I can only hope so.


	22. Rocky Road

_**Rocky Road**_

**O**nce again I sit by his bed. At least this room has a window and isn't chock-full with all these machines. He had fallen asleep again, after my husband had called me and hadn't really woken up since then. The tension between my husband and my son isn't overcome yet. But we can't work this out now. They boy is too exhausted. He barely wakes up and when he does the drugs they give him are making him awfully dazed that he doesn't recognize anything. Watching your son like that is the worst that can happen to you as mother. I had thought it would get better when he was moved from ICU to a normal room. I had been wrong. But after Wednesday night I had regained some hope – a lot. Although I should be deadly tired after… I should stop thinking like a teenage girl and concentrate more on the wellbeing of my sons. Rustling pulls me out of my thoughts. He opens his eyes and looks at me. They are less dazed than the days before.

"Hey, did you sleep well?" He shakes his head. He doesn't talk a lot, only if really necessary. I leave him with that. When he's at home I have time enough to make him a human-being again.

"You'll be better soon." I tell him, nearly everyday. I stroke his bangs out of his face. He looks so pale and his face tells me that he's on pain again. Of course he is. He had undergone two major surgeries.

"Did you eat something today?" Again he shakes his head. I ask myself when it had been the last time he had eaten something properly, but according to his appearance it was a long time ago. He seems to get thinner from day to day. He's only skin and bones. Yes I know this accident claimed a lot of his strength and energy. But I can't see him like this anymore. He used to be strong and well shaped. Now he…he's sick and he looks like that.

"You should eat something, to regain some strength back." I tell him. I'm afraid he might endanger his health even more with his not-eating habits. I look at him, but I don't get too much of a response. It's so difficult to get through to him. He had completely shut down. He's not letting anything in or out.

"C'mon let's see, whether we can get you something light to eat." I'll leave for something to eat for him. I don't like leaving him. It's a curious feeling of anxiety – a feeling I never have about Seth. I find Sandra. She's really a good woman. She can handle Ryan. Maybe it's her age. She looks a lot older than me. I'm sure she has a lot of more experiences.

"Excuse me, I wanted to ask, whether it's possible to get something to eat for my son. He hasn't eaten for weeks." I explain to her.

"Of course…uhm…may I ask how long he hasn't eaten…just that I can find something that's not too heavy on his stomach." She answers. I feel bad to say that. What will she think when I tell her that it had been months? She'll think I'm a bad mother and…

"Honestly, it's months ago, when I've seen him eating properly last time." I tell her. The smile on her face doesn't disappear. She only nods.

"That's long. We should have to watch his eating habits. Just in case." I understand very well what she wants to tell me and I would lie, if I said I haven't thought about it myself.

"Okay, I'll bring something." She says, pats my arm and then goes off. I go back to his room and I'm surprised to see him still awake. I can't imagine he had been awake for more than ten minutes the last few days – weeks.

"Hey, you're still awake. That's good. Sandra will get you something to eat." I don't tell him, what else she had told me.

"Thanks." He answers. I see his discomfort.

"Do you want to have something to read?" I ask him. I don't want him to go back to his sleep. He shakes his head.

"Want to go back to sleep?" I ask, but again he shakes his head. I sigh. It's really hard to get him to talk. He had told me so much the morning before he had ran and now he had turned mute. I'm worried. Maybe it is a real depression. With all these symptoms, who knew?

"Here we are." Sandra comes in with a tray. "And I want you to eat all of it." She says and again ruffles through Ryan's hair. I don't tell her that he doesn't like it. There's not too much food on the tray.

"Thanks." He says whisperingly.

"You're welcome." Sandra says and then leaves again. I watch him staring at the tray. I know this look.

"Honey, you need to eat something." He nods and starts to take small bites from a toast. He eats slowly. Three-quarters of an hour and he's finished. I'm glad he managed to eat. It's not what he used to eat – far away from that – but he was eating at all. I put the documents away.

"Are you okay?" I ask. He nods. Hell, kid why aren't you talking?

"What's that?" Hu? Have I thought aloud? He points at the documents. Yes, it's work. I'm a terrible mother, but I can't sit around and watch him like this. I need something to distract my thoughts.

"Work." I answer honestly. He nods. That's it. I have to stop to act like paralyzed. I have to start to get active on him again. Maybe sharing our interests could open me a new gate through to him. I'll just start our rituals and our relationship from there, where it had ended.

"It's a new project. Here." I hand him the folder. He looks at me. "Look at it, or did your interest change?" I ask him challenging. He blushes a bit. I get a response. Now I'm back in my old shape.

"Just…I shouldn't…it's your job." He answers. He still thinks of privacy of one of the greatest values our contemporary history.

"But I allow you to look at it and I'm really looking forward to your opinion." He nods and hesitatingly opens the folder. He has a close look at every paper. If it was Seth I would start to explain every line in detail. But I know Ryan asks, when he doesn't understand something, plus he knows a lot about architecture for his age.

"We plan a new apartment complex at the seaside."

"Oh…okay." He says. In his face I see he's thinking something, but doesn't dare to tell me. He respects my job too much as if he would ever criticise me.

"What's up your mind?" I ask him.

"It's just…when it's the seaside…I…the windows are so small. I would prefer huge ones."

"I knew you would say that. But the problem we are faced with is the weather. We need to think of storms and intense rain. Huge windows are much too susceptible." I explain him.

"And what about these thick windows uh and…double-glazing, special measures of sealing?" He asks me. He's really in the know. I hope he'll start to study architecture at university. Maybe Berkeley?

"Yeah, we thought about that too, but still not stable enough." I explain him.

"And what if you install rolling shatters?"

"That might be an idea, I should consider." I tell him, glad that he isn't as mute as I thought he was. A knock at the door interrupts our work. Another doctor enters the room.

"Hello?" I greet him. Should I know him?

"Hello, I'm Dr. Conrad. I'm from a clinic in New York and just had a look at your son's x-rays." He explains. I nod and put away the folder. I beg that he has some good news for us.

"You're Ryan I guess." He looks towards Ryan, who immediately had switched into the mute modus again.

"Well, as I said I had a look at your x-rays and it looks bad, but not hopeless." He goes on.

"I can suggest two measure of treatment. We ether can put you pelvis downward into a cast or we can fix your leg within a surgery." I don't need to look at him, to know he doesn't like the second idea. The man takes a chair and sits down. He looks young.

"The advantage of a cast: you won't have to take the additional risk occurring within a surgery. The disadvantage: you won't be able to move for six to eight weeks, meaning you will have to spend a lot of time in bed. I also don't think that we will be able to set the fractures. Speaking literally: your thighbone is a mosaic. It's impossible to set that without surgery. Also there's no chance that your knee will recover from the dislocation. What means, walking is not going to happen anymore." Well, then there is only one option left. I can't imagine Ryan like the idea of a crooked leg, pain and disability.

"The disadvantage of the surgery will be the risk of the anaesthesia and in your current state it's nothing you should underestimate. Unfortunately we already waited too long with the surgery, so every passing day will decrease your chances of a full recovery – especially your knee. But I'm optimistic that I can fix at least the whole bone. I also might be able to reconstruct ligaments, nerves and vessels. But the success of a recovery depends on the later cicatrisation. But all in all the result would be much better than if we only put you into a cast. Best of all, though you won't be able to use your leg and will have to wear one of these damn uncool knee braces, but you will be able to move around with the support of crutches and no cast." I look at him and I see that he's torn: the fear of such a surgery and the desire to be able to move around as soon as possible."

"May I ask how bad the damage in his knee is?" I don't know why I ask this. I only know that nobody told me that it was really serious. They only told me it was dislocated. How should I have known that there was more damage than only a slipped bone?

"I can't say now, but when I'm able to have a look at the open joint. But usually it's quiet bad." The doctor answers.

"And nobody was able to tell me this?"

"I don't know that. I only know that we have to react as soon as possible."

"And how long will such a surgery be?"

"Several hours. I don't think that we can fix all within three. As I say, I need to see the full damage. I can't make any prognoses by now." And I hoped he was bringing good news. In somehow it feels like it was bad news. But it wasn't. They just weren't as good as I hoped they would be.

"We'll think about it." I tell him. I need to talk to my husband about this and…Stop. We can't even decide about this. We're only his foster parents.

"Of course, but you shouldn't wait too long. Deadline is the end of the week. If there are any further questions, I'll be at your disposal. " The doctor says, shakes my hand firmly and then leaves us alone. I look at my son and I see he's despaired.

"That was a lot, what?" I try to find out what he's thinking or feeling, but I don't get a response, despite his trademark shrugging shoulders.

"Would you like to tell me what you're thinking right now? It's really important for me…us to know." I explain him. He still looks at me.

"I dunno…don't like the idea of surgery, but don't want to be fulltime cripple either." He answers.

"I can understand you. It's no easy decision to make, but if I…might tell you what I think of?" I ask him. I don't want to give him the feeling of paternalism. He nods.

"The cast of course bears less risk, but you have to think about your future and how you want to live then. You can't make the decision only depend on your current state, but have to think further." I want to give him support. He needs it right now.

"So, you think surgery it's the best idea." I nod. "Can…can you leave me alone, please? I need some time to think." He says shyly. I already saw this coming. He always does his brooding alone and I don't want to force him to talk about his mental discussion in his head right now. It's already bad enough for him, to get to listen to how bad the chances of a full recovery are anyway.

"Okay. Call me if you need something or someone. I'm there, did you get that?" Again he nods.

"And don't even dare not to call me or the doctor only because you don't want to bother any of us. You aren't alone with this and you shouldn't be." I tell him. Again he nods.

"Alright, I guess I won't get too many words from you. So, goodbye, I come by later this day." I peck him goodbye and heavy hearted leave him alone in this uncomfortable room with this horrible decision to make. In the hallway I meet the doctor once again.

"Excuse me Dr. Conrad, may I ask you something?" He turns around. In comparison to the other doctors he doesn't look stressed or bothered.

"Of course."

"I…I want to know how high the risk is that something goes wrong due the surgery." My heart pounds heavy in my chest.

"You mean regarding to the anaesthesia?" I nod. "Well, your son's current state worries me a bit. But he'll be on full observation due the surgery so when something happens we should be able to react immediately and prevent worse." He answers.

"But the risk is higher than…it's usually."

"Yes."

"Okay, thanks, once again." I say and then leave the hospital. I start to worry. No, I'm already worried.

When I come home, I find my husband reading the newspapers on the patio. I step outside. There is another stony trip ahead of us and I need to tell him. I hate to be the carrier of bad news, but that's what I am right now.

"Hey honey. Already back?" He asks me, gets up and gives me a kiss.

"Yes, he wanted to have some time alone." I tell him and his expression tells that he's close to a rage attack again.

"The doctor told us about the measures of treatment for his leg." I say and sit down. Watching the horizon makes me calm down immediately. It's strange, but this view manages to give me back some strength.

"And?" My husband asks me.

"Either cast, without chances of a good recovery or a long surgery with a good chance for a – not full – but quite good recovery."

"Then the case is clear." My husband already had made a decision and I'm glad that he wasn't with me when the doctor had talked to us. With his eager of making decision a new fight wouldn't have been far away.

"No, Sandy it's not. The surgery is still risky, especially in Ryan's state. Added to that we both know what had happened to his mother and that he still isn't over it. Plus we can't decide this. We're only his foster parents and because there is no one left from his family, we have to call in the guardianship court." My husband sighs and sits down across from me.

"You're right. I forgot that. I go and make some calls. Seeing which judge will be in charge this week and then see how our chances will be." My husband says and goes to leave.

"Sandy, can you do me one favour?" He turns around. "Don't rush with anything. I know we can't wait too long, but it's really hard for Ryan and I don't want that he feels attacked or patronized. And the tension between you and him isn't helpful in anyway."

"I try my best." He says and then leaves for his calls. I'm left alone with my bad feeling. But maybe Ryan has recovered from his shock this evening.


	23. Solutions

**_Solutions_**

**W**e're on our way to him. My wife had explained me detailed, what the doctor had said to them before we got into the car. I'm impressed by her ability to remember so much information. My wife had tried to make me stay at home. Maybe it would have been the best solution. But I can't sit at home, while my son's health is in jeopardy. It's a father's job to be there for his sons in such situations. I have been there for Seth. I need to be there for him too. My wife knocks at the door and slowly opens it. In case Ryan's asleep again, we don't want to wake him. Well, he's asleep. Ryan doesn't used to sleep that much, so when he does it means he must feel miserable. But after the marathon that lay behind and the one that lay head from him, it was no wonder that he felt like that. We enter the room.

"Hey sweetie." My wife goes to him and gently wakes him.

"mmm" Is again the only response we receive. He slowly wakes up.

"Hey kid, how are you?" I ask him. Again he only shrugs his shoulders.

"Did you think about what the doctor told us?" My wife sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. I feel the urge to follow suit. But I can't. Ryan wouldn't allow me.

"Never stopped." He answers. In his eyes I see the desperation. Of course he feels uncomfortable about that. But this is no reason to lose hope. I should stop thinking of him as an adult. He's still a kid. Of course he can't handle this. Of course he loses hope over something like this.

"And did you come to a conclusion?" I ask him. My wife is right. His opinion should be our concern. He knows best what he wants. On the other hand, he's a kid. Kids never know what they want. The one second it's ice cream the next one it's a burger. I watch him. He doesn't look at us. When does he do so? Or better I more often see him looking at my wife, than at me. That hurts, but my wife is right. Between him and me is a never ending tension. As I'm the parent it's my job to ease off the tension, but for doing so I should know, what causes it. Right, I know what's causing it.

"Ryan, would you like to tell us?" My wife asks on. Discomfort and anxiety is written all over his face.

"I…I…don't like the idea of surgery much." He mumbles. In the first second I think I've heard wrong. The next one I realize what he had said and the following second the ball of rage in my stomach is once again close to explode.

"Ryan! You can't be serious." I call out. Again I don't notice that I'm intimidating him by my dominant way handling things when I think it's the wrong way that they are handled.

"I…am…serious…sorry." He whispers. I don't realize my wife's glance. I don't realize the fear that's written between his spoken lines. I don't see that he's still a child that can't make such a decision. I again just don't think about what I'm doing or saying, just because I'm overtaxed with him.

"You know what this means or? Six to eight weeks bed only. And we can take care of you then or what?" I look at him and his expression is obvious. But I'm a dyslexic when it comes to read the boy.

"I didn't even ask you to!" He snaps back.

"And what do you wanna do? You won't be able to do anything. There's nobody else." It's questionable whether he or I hit puberty.

"Why do you care? It's not like I'm not used to be alone. It never had been different!" He yells at me. After this sentence my alarm bells should shrill, but I'm too frustrated to hear them.

"And whose fault is it?" I yell back.

"Sanford!" I hear my wife say. She painfully grabs my arm and forces me out of the room.

"What the hell had gotten into you? Haven't you seen how afraid he is, not having the ability to make such a decision?" Her voice is steely. Only now, where my head recapitulates the scene, I'm aware of my mistake.

"I'm…sorry…I…I just don't want him to give up already." I try to explain myself, but that's nothing but a lame excuse.

"And you will have no idea what the tension between you and him causes? Hell, Sandy he's a child. He can't make this decision. The only difference between him and Seth is that we can make all unpopular decision when it comes to him. And believe me, Ryan doesn't wish for anything more right now, than that someone is making this decision for him." I could have seen this, if I haven't been blind.

"You were talking about patience, before we took him in and now? You lose composure at the smallest occasion. This has to stop otherwise I'm not letting you even near to him anymore."

"Kirsten listen, the judge will send someone to Ryan for an expert opinion considering his maturity. Depending on how this turns out, the judge will decide whether Ryan's opinion has an influence in the final decision or not. And we both know how mature the boy is. It easily can be that the judge comes to the conclusion that Ryan is old enough to make such decision on his own. What am I talking about? He will come to this conclusion and then?" I try to make her see the problem. The boy wasn't able to decide this. But if this expert comes here and Ryan builds up is brick wall of pure rationality, it's impossible that this someone thinks of him as a kid. Damn it, we still have problems to see him that way. That's what it makes so damn difficult to handle him. In the first moment you think he's mature enough to know what he's doing and later you realize that he wasn't – that he still was only a kid that is overtaxed with decisions like these.

"Maybe, but that doesn't justify your outburst. Know what? You go home and try to find a solution for the guardianship court and I go comforting him a little. That's what he needs." And with these words she leaves me standing in the middle of the hallway. I'm such an idiot. I feel how wrong my behaviour is. Why can't I stop it? I'm an adult. I should be able to control myself. On the other hand, the boy doesn't talk much, but if he does, his words owe a lot of force. And then we're faced with the fact that we can't do anything in time, only because nobody told us how serious his leg injury really was …is. Damn it, why does everything have to go wrong when it comes to the boy? Why? I turn around, ready to leave. What to do? I have no idea no, but I will when I'm home.

"Sandy, wait!" I hear my wife's voice. She looks disappointed. I wait.

"What's wrong?" I ask her. I thought at least she was able to get through to him.

"He asked me to leave him alone. Well done." She's angry…no pissed matches much better.

"I'm sorry."

"This doesn't lead to anything." She answers. We head for the car and then drive home in silence. When I mess it up, then I mess it up properly.

When we arrive, we go to the kitchen. My wife pours two mugs of coffee.

"And what now? The doctor said we need to decide until the end of this week if we want to have a good result." She starts from new.

"Hey, how's Ryan?" Our son steps into the kitchen. He's still angry with us, because we don't allow him to visit his friend.

"Not good. He needs surgery for his leg." My wife replies.

"Oh…that's not good." He says and pours himself a mug of coffee. "But, with sixteen …is he allowed to make this decision?" He hits the nail's head.

"No and that's a little problem. We can't make this decision either thus the guardianship court has to make this decision." My wife explains him.

"But why is that a problem? I mean they won't say no to the surgery or?"

"That's not to be said. There's a higher risk related to the anaesthesia and Ryan himself isn't really confident with this idea and this might be important for the judge who has to decide about this." I tell him.

"That's crap…I mean bad luck. But…hey wait…uh…I don't know whether you can imagine this or if it's possible to you, but just in case, you should adopt him. Then you would be allowed to make this decision or? I mean legally it means you have the full parental responsibility, or?" I look at my wife. Of course we have thought about this after his father died. But what will he say? Will he like this idea?

"C'mon, he won't be able to say to you that you aren't his parents, because then you are." He looks as if he would like this idea.

"You're right Seth, but I don't think Ryan's ready for this." My wife says.

"But this is an emergency. You don't need to tell him. Just do it and let it slip one day at the dinner table. I promise that's the best way to cover that you've done something without permission." Without permission? I look at me son. "Hey, you can't say I don't tell you everything." He says and then fast disappears in his room again.

"He's right, you know that." I say to my wife, who sits down at the kitchen table.

"Yes, but I also know that our relationship to him, might suffer under this. It's already strained." Her concerns are reasonable.

We go to bed with a lot on our mind. I can't sleep. I can't forget what I've said to him and after thinking about it, it really hurts. I never thought I was able to say things like that. But I am. It would be a natural reaction if he says no to our idea. The alarm clock shrills. I haven't gotten one second of sleep. I slowly get up, take a shower and prepare breakfast. We want to give it another try this morning. If we really want to adopt him, we need to decide this fast. Honestly, I'm not sure, whether this was the faster and better solution, but it was making me feel as if not every hope was lost by now.

We enter his room. Again he's asleep. He looks worn out. I'd liked to know what went on in his head after what I've said, but he'll never tell me. My wife doesn't wake him up this time. We wait until he's ready. It takes quite a while. My wife was right, he's really exhausted. It had been a bad accident with bad consequences.

"Hey baby." My wife is the first one, noticing the boy is waking up. She rushes to his bed and gently strokes his cheek. She already behaves as if she was his mother. Well, emotionally she is. Only the legal part is missing.

"Hey." He says.

"You better today?" She asks him. He shakes his head. Non verbal communication is his language since the accident.

"Listen honey, Sandy and Seth and I were thinking about something. We only want to know what you think about this idea." He nods. "We were thinking about an adoption…I mean your adoption…we adopt you…. What do you think?"

"Why would you do so?" And exactly this sentence can explain, why I think this boy needs more help than we can offer him.

"Are you serious? Ryan, we care about you and we want you to be our legal son." She tries to explain him.

"But this means that there's no court doing your job. So better think about this carefully." He replies. His eyes, his voice like ice. I can't believe that he's as cold as he pretends to be. I can't believe that he doesn't feel anything about this.

"Ryan, about what is this? Is it about what Sandy had said yesterday?"

"Who cares?" We're meeting a thick wall armoured concrete.

"We care."

"But you're doing enough and it's already too much. I don't want to be more a burden than necessary."

"Ryan, can you just forget about what I've said. It was stupid and I didn't think about what I was saying – I didn't do so lately. This here is only about you." I step in now, but his gestures tell me that we can't win at this front, not today.

"Please, just leave me." He answers. He doesn't want to be bothered by anything that can rip any kind of emotion out of him. I know why he ran and this reason is the same, telling him to reject us now. He doesn't want us to get too close, to touch any emotions.

"Ryan, sweetie, you can't do this alone. You'll need someone who's there for you."

"But it won't be you and nevertheless I'm used to do be alone." I never thought that things I was saying to him, would hit him that hard. But they did. They hit him harder than I ever thought they would. I never intended to hurt him. But I did. I failed him. I'm failing him every single day.

"Can't you give us a chance?" My wife asks. She's hurt by his reaction. I can see it in her eyes. But I don't dare to say anything. It would only lead to a new fight.

"It won't work. It…already doesn't work yet." He admits whispering and I can hear the sadness in his voice – the disappointment. After a while of silence we decide it's time to leave. Fact: we didn't reach anything. Solution? Not in sight. Or? Maybe I'll have to make some phone calls again, meet his social worker. Maybe we still can reach something, although I don't own this hope anymore. There's only this last straw we can hold on. One straw. If this leads to nothing, we have lost everything: Ryan, his health, our family and our own son. There's so much depending on this that I can't allow myself to fail. I have to win this fight. I have to find a solution. And I will, for my wife, for our own son, and for our other son.


	24. The Expert

_**The Expert**_

**W**e needed long to come over what Ryan had said. It was hard to accept his rejection. Why did he fight us that hard? Did we hurt him in anyway? Okay, my husband hadn't been too nice towards him. But he can't tell me he didn't feel the tension between them. He did. I watch out to the pool house. I miss to watch the lights are on in the night. I miss him sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. There's so much I miss about him, but I miss his heart most. Again I'm on my way to the hospital. I'm in a rush. My husband told me that this expert – a woman and psychologist specialized in…whatever, wanted to come by today. I wasn't able to listen. The urge to prepare my son for this was too huge. I need to prevent she thinks of him as a sixteen years old adult. I nearly run through the hallways. She'll arrive some when between noon and morning. I hope my son is already awake.

"Mrs. Cohen, good to see you." Someone calls my name from behind. I turn around and see Dr. Conrad. I have no time for a conversation with him. On the other hand he only came here because of my son, so I need to be polite.

"Hello."

"I just wanted to ask, whether you've made a decision." Yes we did. But if this plan works is another topic and not being discussed with a doctor.

"I'm sorry. But we can't decide this." I tell him honestly.

"What? Why? Mrs. Cohen this is serious…"

"I know and if my husband and I could, we already would have made a decision by now." I see his strange look and it's time to explain.

"We're only Ryan's foster parents and not allowed to make decisions like that, without the agreement of one of his real parents or the guardianship court." Saying this hurts me. I've seen how he suffers. I've seen in his eyes he doesn't want anything more than someone who can make this decision for him. But he's alone. He has to make this decision, because this is, what the court's decision depends on. I'm honestly. I can't imagine any kid making a decision pro surgery. This idea is just too intimidating, even for me as an adult. When I enter the room he's reading a book. It seems as if he's on his way to get better.

"Hi honey." I greet him. I so hope that we didn't hurt him yesterday with our idea. He looks up from his book and offers me a lopsided smile.

"Are you better today?" I ask him. He only nods, shuts the book and lays it aside. Only now I see it's a book with Sudokus. I have to smile inwardly. I never thought that he would copy this habit.

"I…I don't want to annoy you or bother you, but can I just talk once more with you about this surgery?" I ask him. In his eyes I see a shadow of fear, but he nods and tries to get into an upright position. He's still in pain, when he's moving too fast or too quick – when he's moving at all. No wonder he has huge wounds one on his stomach and one on his back.

"Are you sure that you don't want this surgery?" His glance drops onto the blanket.

"Yes." He whispers.

"You know what that means or? I don't want to frighten you or tell you not to decide against the surgery, but I want you to think about the consequences." Maybe he only had forgotten what Dr. Conrad had said about the cast solution.

"Never walking again. I got it." He answers. I'm shocked. He does know about the consequences. He knows what he's doing. Why can he accept never being walking again, but not a surgery? What was going on in his…I better ask him, before racking my brains about it.

"What makes you afraid of that surgery? You'll be able to walk again. You won't have to wear a cast. You would be freer than with a cast." I want him to see what he's agreeing to – not agreeing to – when he refuses the surgery. He's looking away.

"Ryan can you please say something to me?" I want him to be honest to me. I want him to talk about the fears which are written on his face.

"I…just can't…it's…" He stammers. He's searching for words and the courage to tell me. I know how hard it is for him. The more I was surprised when he came to me in the morning before he tried to run and told me about all those things.

"Ryan, when you're afraid that's okay. But…you can't let your fear determine your whole future." I tell him. I want to show him that I'm fully aware of what's going on in him and that I can understand him. I want to take the discomfort away from him.

"Do…did you ever had a surgery?" He asks me. I shake my head. Fortunately all my organs are still where they belong to.

"But Sandy did and I tell you he was badly frightened of it." I tell him. I want him to know that he's not alone and that there are people who can feel with him. Plus, I want him to see that my husband doesn't want to hurt him and can understand him too. My husband is just not able to show it to him, when he's on his wits' end.

"Sandy…and…afraid?" He asks me. I see the disbelieving in his eyes.

"Yes, ask him. Ryan, I know you and Sandy…there is a little tension between you two. But I can assure you, Sandy loves you as much as I do. He only feels helpless and you know what this must mean to him." I explain him. I hope I can get through to him, before this woman arrives. I look at him. His eyes are so sad.

"You still don't believe me – us – when we tell you this. But I promise I'm not lying to you and when we told you about the adoption we were damn serious about it. We want you to be our son. We want to be your parents – those who make the unpopular decisions and drive you insane. And we feel like that deep from our heart." I can't imagine ever been able to talk like that to someone, but the boy forces me to do things I didn't even think I was capable of.

"With unpopular you mean…like this one?" I nod.

"You don't want to decide this, right?"

"I…can't. It's…I …They already fixed one of my bones due surgery, after …one of my Mum's boyfriends…freaked out." He starts to whisper and I prepare myself for what will come next. His stories are never bedtime stories.

"And…my Mum filled all forms and…left me alone, the whole night. The next morning…they brought me into this huge cold…operating room and…I still know how fucking afraid I've been then…but my Mum hadn't been there. And when I woke up again, my…my arm hurt like hell…I…thought I was going to die…it was worse than the fracture itself…but my Mum wasn't there. She only…came to pick me up…when I was allowed to go home." Oh. My. God. What kind of mother was able to leave his kid alone in such a situation? Where had been her maternal instinct? She at least could have been there, when he woke up.

"How old have you been then?" This question isn't important, because no matter how old your kid was, no age justified such behaviour.

"Twelve I think. It's…just it's no fun…if you're alone after…you know what." His voice is shaky and hardly audible. It breaks my heart to hear that he still thinks he has to get through to this alone, when we – Sandy, Seth and I – are around.

"Oh sweetie, you wouldn't be alone. We are there for you. Don't even think we would leave you alone with this." He's focusing the blanket, hadn't lifted his head only for a second, not allowing me to read his expression. Now it's more than obvious why he had refused the surgery. He was really afraid and we didn't want to accept it. I can't imagine having witness him being afraid any time before. Ryan never was and is afraid of anything, but this also was and is only a mistake. He still is a kid, but when I – we – noticed it, it usually was too late. We really should stop thinking of him as an adult, not matter how rough and independent he seems from time to time.

"Ryan, if I promise you that you won't be alone…would you reconsider your opinion?" I ask him. He shrugs his shoulders. He looks so lost and there's nothing I can do to save him. I feel that he's already too far away from us, as if I could just jump after him and get him back into our boat of family.

"I…don't…think…you can promise this. You…you'll break it…" I feel the urge to slap his face. I never would leave him alone with something like that. How can he even think this?

"Ryan that's not true. I never would leave you alone with this and Sandy neither." I tell him

"Nobody can keep promises. It's okay." He says. This is so frustrating. He still doesn't trust us. What have we done to make him…no it had been the others. But he was living with us for so long now and he still isn't able to break his habit of distrust.

"Ryan you have to…" A knock at the door interrupts our conversation. A woman steps in. Corpulent, stern, unfriendly looking. This was the so called expert? I look at Ryan and he looks at me – for the first time this morning. He doesn't look confident about this woman either.

"Good morning, I'm Dr. Arndt. Judge Warron sent me. I'm here to talk to Ryan."  
"And about what?" He asks her.

"Nothing, just a little small talk. The judge for example would like to know what you think about your leg. But nothing important." She says. My chest nearly bursts. This was a lie.

"And she wants to find out whether…" I want to tell him the truth.

"You better go now. I want to talk to Ryan now." She stops me with her harsh voice.

"Can …can she stay?" He sounds intimidated and helpless as a child now. No mature all handling Ryan, but one who's asking for help and support.

"No." She answers harsh and then I witness something I've never witnessed before and what I'm afraid of. His face darkens and his aura had changed. One look into his eyes tells me that he won't allow this woman to see, what he allowed me to see. This woman never will see the intimidated and frightened Ryan, who's more a kid than he wants to admit. Now I'm the one who's afraid, because exactly this is what my husband saw himself helpless towards. This is what will make the decision – a wrong one.  
"Okay Ryan, I'm outside, but if something happens, I'm there." I try to assure him, but it doesn't help to tear down the wall of maturity. I don't want to leave him. But I have to and now I beg that this woman is able to look behind his facade, that she realizes what's hidden under his behaviour. I can only pray for this to happen. I sit down on a bench. I don't look onto my watch, because this will make waiting only longer and harder. I call my husband. I need him by my side right now. This woman was a monster and I…I could kill this bitch. And I should stop thinking in these words. I'm waiting and waiting – for my husband to arrive and for this woman to leave.

"Hey honey, what's wrong?" My husband arrives, at least one to wait for less.

"This expert is there and…she's a monster. " I explain him.

"These experts usually are monsters. They're forced to judge objectively about the situation."

"Yes but she can destroy everything. Sandy…Ryan…Ryan was talking to me…told me what's making him afraid of the surgery…Sandy this was the first time he admitted that he's still a child and not mature enough to make this decision. This is proof enough to know that he's not capable of making this decision." I try to explain him. In somehow I hope he can prevent something – anything, but if he could, he already had done something.

"He did? That…that's good not only concerning the guardianship court. He eventually starts to open up to us – you. Do you know what this means? He trusts you. That's a huge step forward." My husband's enthusiastic, but doesn't understand.

"Yes in that way…but…this woman…how she treated him. I can't describe you what went on with him. But from one into another second he switched from kid into adult – into the Ryan nobody can get through to." I tell him and now his face tells me he isn't happy about anything anymore. He's frowning – thinking.

"That's manipulation. If she's able to make him change in his behaviour, she won't be able to get an objective opinion. I'll appeal from it, if necessary. I won't allow her to manipulate my son." He's in rage again.

"Sandy, there's not enough time for that. You'll never be able to get through with something like that within the end of the week."

"What means the health of our son – his future – his determined by a woman who isn't able to handle him?" He asks me.

"He'll probably be crippled for the rest of his life." I say these words and they hurt me. I know that he'll never be able to walk as he used to – not even with this surgery. But this surgery would bring him more relieve and could at least fix his knee as much as possible. They could get a maximum of recovery due this surgery and most important he won't have to suffer from pain in his leg, only because his bones grew back together crook. I don't want to imagine what's ahead from us. Ryan will never be able to handle this on top.

"I know this doesn't belong here right now, but do you know, what happens to his father's corpse?" This is hanging above our heads like the Damocles sword. Because I'm sure he won't take it too well.

"Do you really want to know that?" My husband asks. I nod. "There's a military funeral in two weeks." I gasp for breath. This was the last straw. I can imagine the boy want to attend this funeral. His father was his last family member and as it seemed the only one he was close to. But this was too fast, especially when he was put into a cast.

"And when did you think about telling him?" I ask him. I don't want imagine what happened if we just stood silent about this, but telling him that he wasn't able to pay his last respect to his father could break him. Okay, he was broke right, but this could shatter him. On the other hand I must say honestly that it as well can be that Ryan doesn't want to attend the funeral. His reaction after his father had told him about his plans, had been a significant indicator for us to see that he didn't take it well and wasn't going to forgive his father that easily.

"I only got to know it today." In two weeks. This is impossible…if we wait for a decision from the guardianship court. And then there's a click in my heart, one which is also affecting my head making it click there as well.

"Do you still have the forms?" I ask my husband.

"What…why? You can't be serious…Kirsten you can't…"

"Oh yes, I can." I tell him. And how I was able to. There was nothing being able to stop me from that.

"I don't think this is a good idea…you've seen…"

"Sometime you need to force people to be happy." I tell him and right after that the door to his room opens and the monster-bitch of a woman comes out.

"May I ask what conclusion you came to?" My husband asks her.

"You'll hear on the day of the hearing. But just among us…a quite mature boy for his age. I don't think there will be too much work for the judge." The worse introduces itself to us, but I'm not afraid of it, because I'll fight it and I have a plan and I'm sure this plan works.

"Goodbye." The woman says and then stamps away. We enter the room. He lies in bed curled up as good as possible – the sign he doesn't feel good about something and I can imagine what it is, he doesn't feel good about.

"Hey, how was this…woman."

"A bitch." He grumbles. "Sorry." He adds. He knows I don't like this language and he really tries not to use it.

"This time you're right." I tell him and sit down on the edge of the bed. I want to stroke over his cheek, but he doesn't allow me.

"Was it that bad?" I ask him. I'm able to read him more and more. Discomfort, pain, sadness and frustration – and all emotions linked to that – make him drifting away from us. But when he starts to feel comfortable around us he starts to talk and let us get a little closer than usually. That's easy.

"Don't wanna talk about it." He answers.

"Kid, I promise everything will be okay. There's nothing you have to be afraid of." My husband says. He tries to repair the cracks in their relationship, tries to lighten the tension. But Ryan doesn't respond. I never had thought that it was me one time he trusts more than my husband. I want to help them, because Ryan needs both of us. But this is something I can't influence. It's something between my husband and him and I have to respect it. Anyway I would risk the bond between him and me and this is out of question. If he doesn't even trust me anymore he'll alone again and I have to prevent this. I'm his mother and I have to be there for him and I will be.


	25. Afraid

_**Afraid**_

"**H**ey and how are you?" Seth enters the room and immediately starts babbling.

"Fine." I answer. I don't want to bother him with my medical history, especially when it's bothering me enough.

"Cool. Sorry that I didn't come by earlier, but you know Mum and Dad thought it was better if I didn't come when you wasn't up to any social activities." Mum and Dad. He already starts talking as if Sandy and Kirsten were my parents. He knows that this isn't true and in somehow don't I like it when he starts talking like that.

"'s okay." I answer.

"Did you talk to our girls lately?" He starts his conversation. I only need to look at him. "Oh, right. You weren't …available for a little time." He starts to rescue the situation.

"So I talked to Summer and she says France is absolutely gorgeous. She's already planning a vacation. Only we two in France. Pure romantic." He starts and yes I'm missing Marissa. There's nothing more I'm wishing for than listening to her voice and looking into the beauty of her face.

"I…I didn't tell her about the accident, but I guess there's someone a little pissed because another someone doesn't answer his cell phone. Thus I was nice enough to bring you yours. If you don't want to lose her to a French man you'd better call her today and explain her what had happened." Well, yes this could be helpful regarding our relationship.

"You may be right." I answer and he's smiling the smile of a winner.

"Here, Mum told me to give them to you." Seth hands me two post cards, both from France. One shows the Eifel Tower and the other one – I guess – is the Louvre. I feel how I start to blush. I really hadn't thought she'll write me.

"Thanks." I tell and put the cards aside. I don't want to read them in Seth's nosey presence.

"Cool and now the important stuff. You've missed over four weeks comics. So you need catch up on this." Oh my God. I just forgot about it. School! Shit. How am I supposed to catch up all the school stuff? I'll never make it through this school year.

"Hey, what's up? You look like a ghost." And I would like to be one.

"Just got reminded of school." I'm honest.

"Geek. Be glad about the break. Okay, not this break…but you know, be glad that school is no issue for you." He's right…but no, he's not. The bad feeling that I might have to repeat this year crawls into my spine and I don't like it. A knock at the door drags me out of my thoughts. Dr. Conrad enters the room.

"Hey Ryan. I have some good news for you." He says and then looks at Seth. "Sorry, can I have a minute with your friend?" He asks Seth.

"He…can stay." I guess. I don't want that Seth thinks I try to shut him out. I already messed up with his parents. I don't want to mess up with him. He's me only and best friend. I can't risk … bear losing him. I realize more and more that my ego trip I used to be on, doesn't work with the Cohens. It's hard to accept that there are people who start to be interested in my business. Not even my parents were interested in my business.

"Okay, well it's nothing serious. Your surgery will take place first thing tomorrow morning." Hu? Surgery? I thought this discussion was over. I thought there was no surgery. I said I don't like this idea.

"Don't look like that. This is the best decision and I promise I'll do my best. You don't need to be afraid of anything. You won't even notice anything. We put you into sleep and when you wake up everything's done." He tells me. I only nod. I look at Seth. He doesn't look shocked.

"Hey, I would like to see a little smile, so I know you're happy about this news. The guardianship court probably would have decided different." The what? One moment.

"I thought this was the court's decision." I look at Seth and he shrugs his shoulders. I look at Dr. Conrad. "I just wanted to tell you that." He answers quickly and then leaves the room.

"That's great dude. Just imagine what had happened if they had put you into a cast and then this low chances for recovery."

"Yeah, really great." I snarl. No, I'm not happy about this. I don't like the idea of a surgery and I want to know who had made this decision over my head. Okay, there are only two people I can think of.

"Man, stop being such an asshole. Mum and Dad had to move heaven and hell for that. You could be at least a little grateful for that." Seth starts to reproach me.

"As if you know what you're talking about." I mumble. I only want to be alone right now. I don't want any company – not even Seth.

"I just wanted to remind you that I had surgery because of my appendix. So don't behave as if you're the only one who has to undergo surgery." He's upset by my behaviour and he has all right to. I'm an asshole. But I have my reasons and I even told Kirsten about it. I thought she would respect it. But nothing. I never should have told her. I'm so damn stupid.

"Yeah, sorry." I reply shortly.

"Let me guess: you want to be alone?" He asks me. I only look at him and he understands. I don't deserve so much understanding. They should stop being that fucking patient with me. I don't deserve it. I never did and never will. Man, I can't even be nice to people who try to help my – who want to give me something I've been looking for so long.

"Got it. But don't forget Marissa. I tell you these girls can be really bitchy if they don't get what they want. And if my parents come by, don't be too pissed at them. They really mean it and I don't understand why you can't start to accept us as family. I mean we're not that bad." He says and then leaves. No, they're everything else than bad. They're great. I never have had such people – who really cared about me. But it's so difficult for me. Every time I open up to Kirsten it is a battle for me. Every time I try to trust them is some kind of war. This is my Iraq. I'm fighting in my own war and I more and more have the feeling as if I'm going to lose it. And now I have to fight the war for my relationship. I pick up my cell phone and dial Marissa's number. I have no idea how late it is in France. I only hope she's still awake or already up.

"_Marissa Cooper?"_She answers thephone. The sound of her smooth voice is already calming me down.

"Hey, it's me." I answer. I'm afraid of talking to her, after I didn't answer my phone for so long. Hell, maybe she already dumped me and now I'm too late. I could understand her and I'd deserve it anyway. No matter if my plan worked out or not.

"_Ryan!"_ She calls out and I hear in her voice that she's happy to hear from me. Maybe I didn't lose her yet.

"_What's up? I tried__ to call you for days, but you didn't answer the phone." _I hear worry in her voice and I don't want to tell her what had happened. I know her and she wouldn't take it well. Okay, maybe I can tell her and just leave some details out. There'll be enough time for them, when she's back.

"Yeah, sorry…uh…but…well, Sandy and I got into a little accident and…I'm …"

"_What? Are you okay? How…what did happen? Are you bad injured?_"

"Uh…no…just a broken leg…they'll fix it tomorrow morning." I tell her and I should have left out the sentence with 'fix' in it.

"_What does it mean? Why didn't they fix it already?"_ She nearly screams into the phone – hysterically. And yes, this was what I wanted to prevent. I don't want her to freak out because of me and I don't want to answer questions. If she knows that this happened, after I tried to run – without a word to her – I can call myself a dead man. She probably would freak out Summer like and I've seen Summer's outbursts. I don't need to be part of one.

"Uh…I…I need surgery. But it's no big deal." I add as fast as I can, to stop her from whatever is going on in her head.

"_What?! And you didn't tell me? Okay, listen, I guess I can get a plane back next thing in the morning. I come back and…"_ Yep, exactly the reaction I didn't want.

"Marissa, no please. Don't come back because of this. I want you to stay in France and have fun with Summer. You…you can't do anything anyway, so please enjoy your time." I try to calm her down.

"_How am I supposed to enjoy my time, when my boyfriend is in hospital and needs surgery?"_ I don't know why, but in somehow don't I want her here. I love her and I want to spend every second with her, but not now. I'm not sure whether I can deal with her. I can't even deal with Seth and his parents. I can't even deal with myself. I'm afraid of pushing her away due to my inability to handle any human being. She would come back for nothing, because I'm sure I would destroy everything.

"Please, Marissa. Just…do me this favour okay?"

"_But why? Don't you love me anymore? What's wrong with you?"_ And yes, this question doesn't help me with my inner conflict I'm captured in.

"No…I still love you and…I…just don't want you coming home only because of this." I try to explain her.

"_Know what, this is exactly what had started our first dispute. I don't want to have the same conversation again, only because you're too…dunno what to let others care about you."_ And now she's angry, another reason why I shouldn't have called her. But no matter had done, it would have been wrong.

"I really didn't want to annoy you, I just…"

"_Yeah, whatever. Get well soon. But think about this: if you go on with treating all others – the Cohens, Seth, Summer and me – like that, you'll be really alone. We only want to help you, because we care and you do everything to reject us. Do you know how this can hurt sometimes?"_

"I'm sorry."

"_I know, but you need to start to work on yourself, otherwise you'll never change your situation." _She's lecturing me. What kind of boyfriend am I, when my girlfriend lectures me? This can't be too good and yes, I feel like crap after listening to all this. I don't want to hurt anyone, neither the Cohens, nor her, Seth or Summer. I just…fuck.

"But this is everything else than easy." I admit to her.

"_Nobody says that it was easy. You only need to try harder."_ Try harder? What the hell does she think I'm doing? I do the best I can…just …it's not good enough and probably I'm not good enough for them. I don't deserve their worry and care. They should look for someone else who's able to give them back what the give him. I can't.

"You're right and…uh thanks for the post cards." I say. I don't want her to…she already thinks I'm ungrateful.

"_Did they arrive? That's awesome. I'll have a lot to tell you, when I come back." _She sounds happy now. I'll never be able to know what she really thinks, when I can't see her.

"Can't wait for that."

"_Okay Ryan, I need to go now. Think about what I was telling you. Bye, love you."_

"I'll do. Love you too." And then the dial tone separates us again. I lie down and read the cards. Her handwriting is beautiful. I never thought that handwritings like this really exists. She writes me about her day in France. It's like I'm with her. A knock on the door pulls me out of my dream.

"Hey Ryan." It's Kirsten with Sandy in tow. I switch into the defence modus. I can't control it. It happens automatically.

"How do you feel?" She asks and sits down on the edge of the bed. I only shrug my shoulders, because I don't feel like talking. I feel too uncomfortable to talk to anyone – to them. They had made a decision concerning my body just without asking me and I can't tell that I like it too much.

"Dr. Conrad said that he told you about your appointment tomorrow morning and told us you didn't seem too happy about that." She starts to speak. I don't look at her. I can't. It's impossible.

"Ryan, we both know that you don't feel comfortable about this. But we won't leave you alone with this." Sandy says. I shrug my shoulders. What am I supposed to think about this?

"Can you tell us, what's upsetting you?" She asks me again. I have to tell her what's upsetting me?

"I…I…explained you…why I don't want this surgery. You knew what this means for me…but…you just don't care." Maybe I'm wrong, but right now this is what I feel.

"We do care Ryan and I told you that this time you won't be alone." She answers. I can't believe her. It's too hard.

"I stopped wanting my parents around when I was sick since I'm…twelve or something. Why should I want you around?"

"Because we care and we want to help you through this." Sandy answers. He's looking at me. I can't believe them. Not in this. The truth would be too hurting this time.

"Crap." I mumble.

"Ryan, why can't you trust us in this?" Kirsten's voice is shaking. The fucking idiot in me again managed to…hurt them…just Shit.

"Because…because…the truth would be too hurtful." I tell them. Now they know and now they should leave, because I feel tears coming up violently and I'm not sure whether I can fight them

"But honey, this is not true. You can trust us that we'll around." She says.

"But I don't want to and I don't want you around. I want to be alone. I don't need you." I nearly scream. One lie after another. I want them around. I don't want to be alone. And hell I need them. But I can't tell them. Disappointment is too hurtful as if I can bear it.

"Okay, but…if you change your mind…let us know." Sandy says, pets my leg. Then they leave. I feel so fucking awful. Worse of all I start crying. I never cry. I stopped crying when I was eight or something. I don't do crying. But I feel so miserable for what I've said. But I can't fight this instinct. I…just can't. I feel so fucking helpless. Why? I never feel helpless. I always know how to solve something. I always know how to go on. But this time is different. I don't know anything. I just feel…hurt, without having a reason.

I don't know how long I lie there and cry. Only a knock on the door makes me wiping away the traces of tears.

"Hey." It's Sandra. She looks at me. I'm afraid she might see that I've cried and turn my head away.

"I'm here to give you something to sleep and when you wake up again, everything's already over." She says. This should be calming? It's not. There will be several hours of black out and I can't even defend if I don't like what they're doing with me. She hands me three red pills. They don't look as if I want to take them.

"Please. This is better than being awake through the whole procedure. Save you a lot of angst and panic." Sandra says. I only look at her and then take them. I don't care about anything anymore right now. I only want this scenario to be over. It doesn't take long and the effect starts to kick in. My surrounding disappears into a blur and I start to feel heavy.

"You really have great foster parents. They only want to help you. They won't hurt you. I can see that." Sandra says. Why is she talking about that?

"know." I only answer. Talking starts to be difficult.

"They really love you." She goes on.

"love 'em too." I answer. My tongue feels so heavy and my eye lids start to close.

"And why don't you show them? It could be so much easier and…you could have a nice family if you only allowed them to be your parents."

"Too afraid." I manage to say. Nice measure. First drugging me stupid and then start with a soul striptease.

"Of what?"

"'m screwed."

"No, you're not screwed. You only need to allow them to be your parents." She says. I can't answer. It's too difficult. My eyelids shut. They're too heavy.

"Tomorrow is another day." I hear someone say, but I don't know who it is.


	26. Powerless

**A/N.:** Sorry for the delay, but new country, new city, new university, new people, I just had no time ;) Thanks for all your reviews, they remind me not to forget my stories ;)

* * *

_**Powerless**_

**L**eaving him alone is hard. But we're powerless against his fears and demons. Why he's acting like that is obvious and it had been too obvious for me too see it earlier. Leaving him alone is not the right solution. It won't help him to overcome his fear. But I'm also afraid of pushing him too hard. I don't know how he'll react and I don't want to harm him. We both don't want to, but everything we do to make him trust us, to make him confident, seems to do so. It feels utterly wrong to leave him. But hurting him more only to satisfy our parental instincts? Showing him he can't push us away? It might help the same way as it might harm him. It's a one-way street, only we can't foresee what's at the end.

"Why is he doing this?" My wife asks me. She had been shocked by Ryan's outburst. Either have I. We both had known that it was a tough fight to get through to him. But that bad?

"Isn't it obvious?" I ask her. I don't want to discuss this topic anymore. I want a solution.

"No, not for me." She answers. I look into her eyes.

"He's hurting us, before we can hurt him. That simple. When he tells us he doesn't want us around, he doesn't get hurt, if we aren't." How screwed was that? I never would be able to come to such an idea. Worse of all, the boy doesn't even know that this was his problem.

"This isn't…healthy…or?" My wife asks. I only shake my head. We need to do something, anything.

"Not really, but I also have no idea how to cure him from that." The phone rings.

"Can you answer it?" My wife asks. She looks too tired to do so and I'm sure she also is too tired.

"Sandy Cohen?" I answer it. Honestly, I'm too tired to talk to anyone as well. I want to lie down and just forget about the last…past days. I want to turn back time and then just…handle things different. Unfortunately I'm stuck in the real world and this isn't possible.

"_Mr. Cohen? Here's Marissa."_It's Marissa's hysteric voice and I don't want to know what drama comes up next. Well, I know what drama will come up next, but I don't tell her. She's his girlfriend I can't be impolite.

"Hey…uhm…sorry, but Ryan isn't home…"

"_I know, I know. I…only wanted to know how serious it is. He called me, but…he didn't really talk about what had happened."_ Okay, she's already in the know. He didn't tell her? Was that a wonder? He doesn't tell anything to anyone. But if he even didn't talk to Marissa it's only more reason to worry. He used to talk to her about everything. My wife and I had been envious about her relationship to him. And how to tell her without making her…even more hysteric?

"It…it's quite serious, but he's out of the woods. No need to worry." I tell her. I catch some concerned looks from my wife.

"_Are you sure? I wanted to come back, but he insisted not to."_ Even Marissa? Now there's really a lot reason to worry.

"He doesn't want to see any of us right now." I calm her down.

"_But that's not good. I come back, I can get…"_

"Marissa, I don't think this is the right time. You should stay in France and enjoy your time." I don't want Ryan to freak out and risk their relationship only because of something imprudent.

"_But…he needs help. Someone needs to tell him how…wrong he is with his behaviour."_ She got the point. She's really a smart girl, although she's Julie Cooper's daughter.

"And your right with that. But…this is a parents' job, not yours. Let's make a deal. You stay in France and collect as much impressions as you can, so you can distract Ryan, when he's home and has to accept that he has to slow down for a while. I'm sure he'll need you then. And we do the parents' job. Okay?"

"_But…I want to be with him now."_ She's close to tears. This boy has one gift: making the women cry. This had to stop.

"But you can't help him right now. As far as I can judge the situation it only would harm him and you and your relationship. Trust me in this. I …know what I'm talking about." I'm still not used to switch from adult into teeny modus while a conversation. But the kids were in a difficult age – caught between childhood and the life of an adult.

"_Oh…okay…then…I call him then and…and write more post cards, but cam you call me if…if it's getting worse again?" _She asks me. She's really concerned about him.

"Of course I'll do. But I don't think that this will happen. He's on a good way of recovery." I tell her.

"_Okay, thanks and sorry for my late call."_ She says and then rings off.

"Marissa?" My wife asks. I nod and go back to the place I've stood before. I'm thrown back into my state of heavy thinking, but still without success.

"He's rejecting her as well. He…he doesn't know what love is and he's refusing to learn about it." She says. She's right. If he did know, he wouldn't behave like that. He would trust us and Marissa. But right now he doesn't even trust himself. How to teach him? How to make him allow us to be around? How to get through to him? This boy is a closed book. But we need to open it. We need to read what's written in it. This is important. I start to feel that we might have to force him to learn. Maybe it's not good to draw back every time he's rejecting us. Maybe we have to show him that he can't reject us. Would he accept this? Not at the beginning, but he could be able to adapt…What am I thinking? The boy was living together with us for so long and still wasn't capable of adapting. Why would he then?

I go to the living room and switch on the TV, the most indifferent behaviour I can think of. But what else to do? My wife sits down next to me and I put my arm around her. We both need a break right now. We need to get our minds free for a moment and then we can start to think about solutions and conflicts from new.

The next morning came quite too early. But when we got up and looked onto the watch, we knew it was Ryan's time for the surgery. Not being able to be there for him now, not holding his hand, stroking through his hair was driving me crazy. On the other hand Dr. Conrad had told us that they put him into sleep the night before. They wanted as less stress as possible for him, thus he wouldn't have noticed we're being there anyway. But in somehow wasn't this a good opportunity to be there for him although he doesn't want us? No matter how to look at it, my bad conscience is punishing me. I look at my wife and she looks as miserable as I 'm feeling.

"I feel like the worse mother on earth right now." She admits. Her hands wrapped around the mug with hot steaming coffee.

"And I like to worse father on earth." I answer. But truth is there's nothing for us left to do. We only can wait and hope that Ryan gets a grip on himself and stops with his measures of rejection and insults.

"Hey, what are you doing here? I thought today was Ryan's surgery." Our son comes into the kitchen.

"You're right, but he doesn't want to have us around." My wife answers heavily.

"And you care? Do you know how unfair that is? No matter how pissed I am, I never get you to leave me alone." Well, yes he's right and he's not. Forcing my own son to talk is not the same than getting Ryan to talk. My own son likes attention, Ryan tries to be invisible.

"Yeah, but you don't fight us tooth and nail when we impose our attention and presence to you." I answer.

"That's right. Hey, but you should use this opportunity. Ryan is handicapped and can't fight you as hard as usual, what means you can impose your attention and presence to him as well." My son is quite smart for his age.

"You're right, but it's not as easy as you think." My wife answers.

"Or you're only afraid of something. I dunno, but I have no time to discuss this further, as I'm already late for school. Say hello to Ryan, if you decide to go to him." Our son says and then leaves for school. I look at my wife and she shrugs her shoulders.

"Should we take the risk?" I ask her.

"Right now? No. Seth is right, but I'm afraid of some stupid fight which might push him even farer away from us. Maybe we should start to get used to this status quo." She says. Status quo? This was no status. This was … nothing but a hurting burden for all of us. But she was right. Who knew what will happen if we ignore his desire for privacy. The consequences could be worse as the current state.

"What leaves us hoping that everything will be alright again?" I ask her.  
"What else shell we do?"

"If I knew? But I'm sure sitting and doing nothing won't help with anything." I tell her. I can't sit around and do nothing. That's not my way of solving problems. But my way of solving problems probably leads to nothing but even more pain and cracks. Nevertheless I have the feeling as if it was time for us to risk this. We had to risk something if we want Ryan as our son. We already risked a lot, when we took him in. What more can happen? We can ground him as long as he gotten used to the idea that this was his home. And if it gets too much for him he runs away and the whole shit starts from new. Yes, I want to lock him up in his room upstairs and leave him there as long as he's ready for being treated like every normal family member in this house. Let us assume that Caleb doesn't belong to this group of people. They told us they'll call us when it's over, but this can take long, thus I disappear into my study and start working. My wife is doing the same – only her study is the dinning room. It's hard to concentrate on all these papers. I'm waiting desperately for the phone to ring and every time I'm disappointed because it's one of my wives's contractors calling.

It's already early afternoon, when the phone starts ringing again. I've given up hope it might be the hospital so leave the job of picking up with my wife. As I don't get a message from my wife I'm sure it only was someone from her office or who ever.

I can't stand this waiting anymore and leave my study frustrated. My wife is sitting out on the patio. She uses to do so, when she needs to come down after a rough meeting. Well, this tells me her nerves are on the edge either.

"Hey." I say and sit down at the table. The view is inestimable. Although I don't like Newport as I liked Berkeley, there are still some things that I appreciate of this place.

"I start to worry. I mean the doctor said it would take long, but that long?" I can't say anything about that. I'm not possessing a medical degree. I can't say how long surgeries take or not. I don't even know what they're doing to my boy. Of course they told us everything in detail, but who on earth understands this medical slang? I don't. I'm glad if I understand my own son's language and that's difficult enough from time to time.

"What if this was the wrong decision?" She asks me again.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything."

"You shouldn't even think that way." I tell her, but inwardly I have to fight hard against these thoughts myself. The phone rings again. I hate this annoying tone.

"Can you? I don't think my head can bear any more phone calls." My wife asks and I get up to pick up the phone.

"Cohen?" I'm bothered right now. I want to get drowned in my thoughts, without being disturbed by anyone.

"_Mr. Cohen? Here's Sandra from the hospital calling…well I know about what your son said…but I guess here's someone who needs you_." I don't know that I ever could be grateful for a phone call and for a voice.

"Okay…we're on our way."

"_Fine, but be prepared…your son don't feel too well right now._" She says. This doesn't sound good. But I still remember my own son after his surgery last year. We got him through that and we'll get Ryan through it as well.

"Alright, we'll think of it. Thanks for the call."

"_Your welcome._" And then there's the dial tone. I run out the patio.

"Who was it?" My wife asks hopefully.

"Sandra from the hospital. She says there's someone who needs us." I tell her and her eyes tell me that this message was more than she had hoped for. Her eyes shine of happiness.

"Then don't let us waste any time." She says, grabs my hand and then we head for our car. I feel relieve spread through my body. He doesn't feel to well, but this had been to be expected. Most important was that he seemed to need us and that we might now be able to let him know that we're his parents and that we love him. This is our chance to show him what love means and that he can't reject us. This is our chance to change the situation.


	27. Forced to be loved

_**Forced to be loved**_

**W**e're waiting in front of his room. Dr. Conrad wants to talk to us first. I can't wait to get to my son. I don't want to wait. My husband is rubbing my back. He tries to calm me down, but this is impossible right now. I need to see my baby.

"Mrs. and Mr. Cohen, good that you were able to come here that fast." The doctor greets us.

"How went the surgery? Is everything alright with our son?" It bubbles out of me.

"The surgery went well. We were able to fix the bone. We expect a full recovery there. Unfortunately we can't be that optimistic about his knee. I did everything in my power, but it'll be possible that he'll have to life with smaller limitations." Oh no. This was not good.

"About what kind of limitation are you talking about?" My husband asks.

"Well, he's not going to be a professional athlete. His knee won't bear this kind of exposure. But he should be able to attend gym classes. He might have to skip classes due to some swellings or pain. He might sometimes not able to move his leg fully, leading to light limping. Also his knee is more instable as it was before the accident. But all this is nothing we can't resolve with ice packs, light painkillers, special salves and bandages. " Well, this sounds okay to me. But I'm not the one who has to live with this the rest of my life.

"And his bones?" My husband asks on.

"I don't want to bother you with details. There's a lot of metal in his leg that keeps the bones where they belong to. And within a year it can be removed again. But this is a routine surgery and won't take as long as this one." Another surgery? Poor boy. I feel bad for him. This surgery will burden his mind one whole year.

"When can we take him home?" This is the only important question to me.

"We shouldn't hurry with that. He's really knocked out due to the anaesthesia and we should give him some days – I'd say two weeks. As well we should have a close look on his stitches." And stitches? Oh no. This is not good. This will leave scars.

"But when you take him home, he has to take it easy. Not too much moving in the first few weeks. He will depend on crutches for some time. How long depends on the recovery of his knee, thus I'd suggest you to contact an orthopaedist as soon as possible, when he comes home. He'll has to wear a brace to support his knee, but the medical technology has developed far enough that those are smaller and lighter are the former ones and he won't have to wear them over his trousers - the most important fact for teenagers in his age. But," The doctor starts to warn us, "he'll only reach a maximum of recovery if he's carefully and attends frequently physical therapy." Oomph, this is a lot to think about.

"This is a lot to think about." My husband expresses my thoughts.

"That's why you should contact an orthopaedist quite early. And now you should go and see your son. But I warn you, he's not feeling too well." And then the doctor releases us to our son. We carefully step in. There's a pale form lying under a thick blanket. He must have turned to his side and tried to curl up as he used to do. I step closer. It hurts to see him like this. He looks so fragile, hurt and sick.

"Hey sweetie." I whisper. I want to be as carefully as possible. I stroke over his cheek. It's his injured one. The cuts start to fade. Dr. Roberts had called one evening and told us he has cared for the cuts personally as well as he wanted to care for the transactions on his leg. If this helps to make my son feel better I'm thankful for it. His body is shivering badly and in my opinion it looks as if his lips are light bluish, but this can also be the effect of too much maternal worry.

"mmm" Again is all I get. He sounds dazed.

"You don't feel too good, what?" I ask him. Stupid question. It's obvious that he feels not too good. Sandra comes in with a mug.

"Hi." She greets us. "Don't worry. It had been a long and rough day for him. He'll be groggy for a while. Here's a tea. This should help him to warm up a little. But only small sips. We don't want him to throw up again." She says, places the mug on the nightstand and again ruffles through his hair.

"When he starts to be in pain, call me." She says and then leaves us alone. I try to put an arm around my son. Right now he's nothing but a helpless and defenceless child.

"Oh honey, it's over now." I tell him. I want to do anything to sooth him. "Do you want some tea?" I ask him. I don't get a response. I take the mug into my hands.

"Here. It'll make you feel better." I tell him. He takes the mug in both hands. He isn't looking up to me. He's shaking awfully. He takes small sips then puts the mug onto the nightstand on the other side. Without paying any attention to me or my husband he lies back onto his side and tries to curl up. I rub his back. He moves away from me and I'm afraid he might fall out of the bed. It doesn't take long for the tea in his stomach to rebel.

"Are you sick?" I ask him, he shakes his head, but my husband hands me a bowl – luckily in time. I don't understand what the boy thinks he'll reach through his behaviour. There's nothing to throw up in his stomach, but it takes long until it had calmed down again. I don't care if he doesn't want me to touch him. Rubbing his back, when he throws up is a reflex and I don't think about stopping doing so.

"Feel better now?" I ask him, but nothing. He hides under the blanket, nearly successful. In somehow I have the feeling as if he still tries to push me away – he's only too weak to do so. My luck and my chance to force him to be loved.

"Are you still mad at us?" My husband asks him. The boy nods a little. My heart gets heavy again. I look at my husband. He had put on his battle mask. I know what this means and he leaves me no other chance than participate in this battle. I sit down on the edge of the bed. Now I easily can wrap an arm around him. His body is cold like ice. He tries to fight my arm – little.

"Why? Because we decided that…this surgery was to your best?" My husband asks on. He nods. He had won his patience back after his outburst. I'm glad, because otherwise I won't have taken him with me.

"Honey, making the unpopular decisions is a parents' job." I tell him, carefully brushing the hair out of his face, so that I can see his eyes.

"I…I…di…did…didn't…kn…know…th…that…f…fo…fos…foster…pa…parents…are allowed…t…to…m…m…make…s…such de…decisions." He manages to speak with chattering teeth of cold. It don't hurt me, when he says this because the way he's talking makes me feel even more sorry for him. It only shows me how weak he must feel right now and then he's still fighting us – afraid that we might hurt him.

"But legal parents can." My husband says. And now it occurs to me. The boy hadn't even realized what it meant, when we decided for the surgery. He still can't believe that we want him to be our son. Okay he already was in somehow, but this was only emotional. Now…he is our legal son and the only difference between him and our … other son was that he appeared sixteen years later, without labour pains.

"W…wh…why…w…wou…would…y…you…d…do s…so?" He stammers. I pull him a little tighter against my side. He needs to feel what this means. He needs to feel what he means to me – to us.

"Would? We've done. What should have hindered us from doing so?" My husband asks and sits down on the foot of the bed and gently starts to pet our son's leg – the not injured one.

"'c…'cause…I…I'm…u…used…a…and…d…di…dirty." He replies. My heart clenches. That's how he must have felt through the whole years. I pull him even tighter at my side. He needs to know that those years – years of pain, disappointment and sadness – are over now.

"No…you're not." I answer. But what shell these words bring about? He doesn't believe us, he doesn't trust us and we know he has enough reasons to be distrustful to adults – other people. It only hurts, because we never would hurt him. We know that. He doesn't.

"C…c…c'mon…y…you've…r…r…read…all…o…of…it.…Y…you…know…th…that…it's…th…the truth. " He stammers. I look at my husband. I'm powerless against this. No matter what I say or do, he never will believe us.

"Ryan, these are all things other people have done to you. It…it doesn't change who you are and that we love you. Why don't you start and believe us. Hell kid, they won't have let us adopt you, when they've thought we could do you any harm." My husband starts to explain him. I know that these words won't help. We're at the dead end. We're faced with the consequences of sixteen years abuse. This is nothing we can fix. We're going to need professional help. We should have thought about this so much earlier. We could have prevented so much, but it's useless to think about what could have happened. We need to think about what has to happen.

"Do you know what Ryan? You can punish us with rejection. You can try to push us away as hard as you can, but you're never getting rid of us." I tell him. No I determine it. This was my last word. I would fight this 'til the bitter end – inwardly hoping for a happy end.

"Su…sure…be…because…I…I'm…s…so…w…wo…worth…it." After this sentence I only want to slap his face, beating some sense into his head. I want to lay the blame on the drugs in his system. Unfortunately I know that he talks like that even without drugs.

"You have so no idea what you're talking about." I tell him and lean over so that I can take him into my arms. He doesn't reply anything. He just lies there, shivering and fighting his emotions. Don't know how long I'm holding him like that, but his steady-going and calm breath tells me that he has fallen asleep again. I stroke over his hair and peck his forehead. Then I get up. My back aches from sitting in this position for so long. My husband had taken a seat in one of the chairs. It's already dark outside. I didn't notice how the time past by.

"Some coffee?" He smiles at me. I nod and get onto me feet, stretching my aching back. One look at the boy tells me, he won't wake up too soon again. We both step out. I need to move my cramping legs. Oh man, I'm getting old. Maybe I should start to workout again.

"You're brave, did I tell you that?" My husband asks when we're on our way back to our son. He's mistaken. I'm not brave. I'm scared. I'm scared of losing our new won son to his past.

"I think…you were right. We need professional help…he needs professional help. This wall he had built up is too thick as if we could get through to him." I admit. I should have admitted it earlier. I just was too afraid of getting to know how broke our son really is.

"I told you so." My husband answers and in somehow this answer is frustrating. It's not because he had been right from the very beginning once again. It's because of my blindness.

"Yes and you were right. I…we shouldn't force him to. We have to try to make him admit that he needs this help. Everything else will only lead to more fights. I'm too afraid we might push him away – too far as we would be able to help him anymore. We…both know how fragile he is…emotional fragile." I tell him. I don't want my husband's enthusiasm leading to some kind of quick idea that turns out to be not as good as we thought it was – a quick idea that might hurt our son.

"So our new aim is, getting Ryan to admit to us and himself that he's not able to fix his problem. That could be a little hairy. He's barely accepting our help. I doubt that he'll accept help from a stranger." My husband says. He might be right until now. We have this one chance and we have to face it, take it no matter on what costs.

"But he has to. You have listened to the doctor. He'll have to depend on our help for quite a while."

"You're so cruel." My husband says. I'm sure Ryan won't like this. He'll try to be independent, but he'll also realize that he isn't in his current state.

"What I'm most afraid is this funeral." The whole time we had forgotten about that. This was wrong.

"Let us wait until tomorrow." My husband says.

"Of course. It's like the boy can't get a break and I don't even have thought about school. Dr. Kim didn't sound too happy about his absence."

"Anyway we should think about whether it wouldn't be better for him, if he changed school."

"But all his friends are at Harbor. Seth, Marissa, Summer. I don't think this is a good idea."

"Then we need to find a solution for his history teacher." I feel overtaxed. There are so many things to think about. His father, his school, his health, his…everything. It's like his whole world shattered and now we have to pick up the pieces and try to put them back together. And why all this? Because of my inability to react in time. I'm sure if I had reacted immediately when I got aware of his insomnia and lack of appetite. I should have reacted immediately when I noticed something was wrong. But I haven't only because I thought we could deal with it. Reading his file should have told me that we can't help him. That we can only be there for him and get him the help he needs.

"What's wrong with you?" My husband asks.

"I…I doubt that we can handle all this. It's like an increasing mountain of problems." I admit.

"Step by step. We solve one thing after another. And to be honest, we had times in which we had to solve more problems than this. Remember the time in your post truck, the parties and the exam the next morning. That had been real challenging. You know don't letting the Profs see and smell what had been in your cigarette a few hours before." With so little anecdotes my husband uses to cheer me up. We had a good time then.

"You're right. It's already late. One of us should go home to Seth." I tell him, inwardly hoping he goes. I can't leave my baby right now.

"You think it's a good idea that one of us stays with him?"

"He needs us. He doesn't know or admit it yet. Despite if we leave him, we'll only prove that he had been right and I begrudge him that." I answer.

"What means I go home and then spell you tomorrow morning."

"Sounds good."

"Okay, good night then." My husband kisses me and I go back to my son. He's still sleeping. I switch off the bright light and switch on the small one on the nightstand. When he's sleeping he doesn't look as if he's haunted by his past every second of his life. He rather looks peaceful. On the other hand he's only sleeping because of the drugs they had given to him. We have underestimated his past. We have underestimated the damage it had done to him. And why? Because he can be so mature. Thinking of him as a child is so difficult. I guess it's because I didn't see him growing up. I only know him as the sixteen years old boy who had worked for paying his mother's bills. From the very beginning I should have seen that this kind of maturity is…in somehow…a sign that he's sick – emotionally sick. I take out a book from my bag and start reading. My attention gets withdrawn from my book to a rustling sound and a silent groaning. I get up and see that my son is awake.

"Hey sweetie." I stroke over his cheek. His jaw is clenched. He's sweating.

"Are you in pain?" I ask him. He slowly nods his head. He admits it? Poor boy. This must feel bad then.

"Oh, honey. I call someone." I say and press the nurse button. His groaning gets louder with every passing second. My heart breaks seeing him so wiped out.

"Shh. It'll be better soon." I try to sooth him. I sit next to him and take him into my arms, holding him tight. I can see how with every passing second his pain must worsen, because with every passing second his groans get louder and deeper, his jaw clenches more that I'm afraid he might damage his teeth and his body starts to tense up more and more. It takes hours until a nurse arrives. I'm sure it only had been five minutes, but I can't stand to see my son is in heavy pain. But I need to be strong for him.

"Is the pain in your leg coming back?" The nurse asks him and I'm disappointed that it's not Sandra.

"I think so." I answer, as my son is in no current state to do so. The woman nods and then injects something into my boy's IV.

"Besides what are you doing here? Visiting hours are over long ago." She snaps at me. That she has the nerve to talk to me like that.

"I'm his mother and your boss allowed me to stay over night. And besides if I wasn't there, nobody would have noticed that he's in pain." I snap back.

"He's old enough." This was the last straw.

"He's sixteen years old and a long difficult surgery lies behind him. So don't tell me he's old enough."

"Whatever." If I wouldn't be aware that Ryan needs me right now, I would have jumped of the bed and killed this bitch.

"Soon you'll feel better." I try to sooth him. I rub his back to make him relax. It used to work with Seth – it still does – and in somehow they both are children – my children. I feel how he nestles down in my embrace. My heart jumps a little. He seems to have overcome some of his distrust. I stroke through his hair. His body is still all tensed up and his jaw is clenched. The medication probably needs some time to kick in. That's what I still think after thirty more minutes. Thirty minutes more past. I feel how my t-shirt starts to get soggy and his body is trembling.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I ask him, noticing that my t-shirt get soaked with his tears. Tears? Ryan? Ryan never cries and especially not in presence of anyone. Hell, how bad must he feel right now?

"Hurts …so." I hear him say among his silent – nearly inaudible – sobs.

"Isn't it any better?" I ask him. He shakes his head. "Oh honey." I take him closer and once again press the nurse button. Again this bitch of a woman appears.

"What?" She asks harsh.

"I want a doctor, now. Or I'll complain about you and then we'll see how long you're going to do this job with this attitude."

"Sure." And now she forces me to something, I usually never do. I even hate to do this, but this bitch leaves me no choice.

"Do you really think you can take Caleb Nichol's daughter on?" And then there's no rude comment, only a running nurse and for her sake she's running for a doctor.

"Mrs. Cohen?" She did. "The nurse told me your son is still in pain?"

"Yes and believe me I'm not one of those pampering mummies." I don't want him to think I'm calling him for nothing. He only nods and looks through a flip chart.

"Okay…well…when I look at that, I can imagine you're not exaggerating. I give him some stronger pain killers. If he's a little dazed after the effect kicked in, don't worry." The doctor says and then injects something else into my boy's IV. Then he leaves. I feel how my son's body slowly relaxes.

"Getting better?" I ask him. He nods. "That's good." I tell him. It doesn't take long and he falls asleep again, in my arms. I hope we don't have to go for this trip again.


	28. Visitors

**A/N.:** Help required. As you didn't allow me to kill Ryan, I was forced to write another story (in which I won't kill him). As reward for keeping alive, I would like to know what kind of soft toy might suit to Ryan (in the story Kirsten wants to buy him one that's 'protecting' him). So, if I don't get suggestions: I still can kill him in this story :)

* * *

_**Visitors**_

**A** throbbing pain in my leg wakes me up. The horror trip from last night is just a blur. Oh my god, do I feel sick. Was I saying last night's horror trip? Well, the whole day was one single horror trip and it doesn't feel as if it's getting any better today. Fuck. I slowly open my eyes. The sun shines bright into the room – too bright. Oh God. I feel like after a night with lots of bad shit. I turn to…ouch. No…not good. No turning to the side. Better not.

"Hey kid." I hear someone say. I open my eyes again and look into this always fresh and shiny face. I sometimes wonder whether he's taking something in the morning to be that happy everyday.

"Morning." I mumble. I'm still not really awake.

"How are you feeling?" He asks and I don't want to hear this question anymore. I only shrug my shoulders.

"What means: you don't know or you don't care?" My head isn't really ready for something like that.

"Dunno." I only answer. If someone would be that friendly to chop off my leg I would be deeply grateful.

"Kirsten had been quite worried about last night." Last night? Shit. No. This was real. Fuck. I'm such an asshole. Fuck. No, this doesn't help any further right now. He really has a good timing for making someone suffering from a very bad conscience. Really, very, very bad.

"Sandy, I know you can't hear this anymore and I promise I try …to…change…in somehow, but I'm really sorry." I want this pain to go away. I would do everything to make it go away.

"Sorry, for what?" Okay, now it's going to be worse than bad and worst than worse.

"Do I really have to itemize it all or can I just say for approximately the last…seven or eight months?"

"If you stick to our agreement that you this time really start to trust and believe us, start to become part of our family, I think this is enough." Right now I have no clue of what is hurting more – my leg or my conscience.

"C'mon kid, we can make you feel better. You only need to let us." He looks into my eyes. I try to avoid this look. These eyes can look through me. He can read me and I'm not ready for that. Not now and I doubt I'll ever be and then I should be able to let them…make me feel better? Is he kidding me?

"How?" I only ask. I know this is a fucked up question. I know he doesn't deserve this. But I need to make him stop to go any deeper. I'm not able to control myself – last night's five-years-old-baby-outburst had been the best proof.

"Good morning." Sandra comes in. "And how are you feeling?" I need to bite my tongue to not getting impolite about this question.

"Does your leg hurt?"

"Not as bad as last night, but yes." I don't want to feel that pain once again. I'll kill myself, I swear. This is no joke. Okay, maybe I should trying chopping of my leg on my own. But this… My stomach turns only by the thought of the bloody result.

"Then we should see that this doesn't happen again. But I'm sure the worse is over now." She says and then injects something into my IV. I still didn't get rid of it. Oomph. Sandra leaves and then comes back – with a tray. No…not eating. Not yet. I already feel like throwing up.

"And here's your breakfast."

"Uh…I…I'm not really hungry."

"That doesn't matter to me. When I come back all of this is gone and settled in your stomach. Understood?" She says – no commands. I look on what's on the tray and I can't say that it makes me hungry. I shove it away. I don't care what she says or not. I don't want to eat right now.

"Hey kid, what's wrong? You have to eat. I don't want to know how much weight you've already lost. And not eating doesn't help you with getting better." Sandy says. He's right. My cloths don't fit since months and…I don't think that my body like this not eating much. On the other hand, I'm really not hungry, also since months.

"Do you want something else?" He asks me. I shake my head. I don't want anything right now.

"Okay, what about a little deal: you eat what you like to and I'll help you out with commander nurse. How does it sound?" He smiles at me. I don't get why he's still caring about me. I'm a pain up his ass and he…pretends as everything was fine. It starts to feel as if he – they – really mean it. Hard to believe in this. Who knows what happens when I'm out of here. But I don't want to annoy him – never intended to. I'm just unable to accept that there might be someone who really cares. I start to eat. My stomach thanks me with cramps and the feeling of nausea.

"Are you up to some…not that happy news?" He asks me.

"Dunno. Just tell me." I answer. I'm only used to bad news. I never was ready for them and I doubt I ever will.

"On Friday in two weeks is your Dad's funeral. I…wanted to know if you plan to attend it." He starts. Shit. I haven't thought of that – of him. Why now? Why does he have to open up these wounds? Pinning needles stick in my heart and they start to hurt.

"No." I only answer. I haven't been at my Mum's funeral, or at my brother's. Why should I go to my Dad's? He was nothing but a stranger for me.

"Are you sure? It could help you to draw a line under this." He says. Why can't he accept my answer? Why does he have to turn the knife in the wound?

"I don't want to." I answer and then turn on my side, back to him. I fight back tears. Shit. Since when am I such a pussy. I never used to cry. Why do I feel like I have to every five seconds?

"Kid." I feel how he sits down on the bed. I try to get more distance between him and me, but it doesn't work. Shit. Fact is I can't handle these family issues. And fact is this is wrong. He starts rubbing my back. He should stop with it. Now. I try to fight this contact.

"Kid, as sorry as I am for you being here right now. But the advantage is you can't run. Thus you have to stand us as long as you accept that you're a part of our family – that we're your family." Family. Bullshit. Not existent, at least not for me. I don't do family. Not that I don't want…but family is nothing else than a word for pain.

"What's making it so difficult for you to realize that we really mean it?" You and Kirsten and Seth and…well all of you together and then there was me…I guess this should be enough. Yes, I admit it. I'm afraid and intimidated. Who tells me that this is no bad joke? Who tells me what family is? I have so fucking no clue and that's the best premise for messing it up, but really messing it up – the Ryan Atwood way of messing it up. And this is what I don't want. I already caused so much trouble and pain. Why don't they understand that?

"Know what? I think you should go to this funeral. We all come with you. You don't have to do this alone, not when you have us. And if you feel uncomfortable we just leave the scene. Do you think that's a good idea?" Well I could leave five seconds after arriving, what would mean I won't have to attend this funeral…shit. Why does it hurt, when I think of my Dad's death? He never had been around much. He was a stranger and when we had the chance to get to know each other, he decided to leave. He used to yell at Mum and Mum used to yell at him. So why does it hurt, when I think of my Mum who didn't care much about me, but more about her drinks and drugs and loser boyfriends. She used to watch Tray and me getting my ass kicked and then blamed us for it to happen. I had to work my hands to then bones so she could finance her booze. Why did it hurt? Why did it hurt, when I though of Tray who had left me alone for three years with that shit and then came back and still hadn't learned his lesson? Why does it hurt, when I think of all bruises and cuts and those punches and kicks that have caused them? Why does it hurt, when I thought about those men that entered my room when I was supposed to sleep and took from me what my passed out Mum couldn't give them? I'm done with it – was done with it. Why does it hurt when I think of it now? Why do I want to tell Kirsten and Sandy about this and how I feel about it? Why do I want them to take me into their arms and comfort me? Why do I wish so hard for having them as my family and being a part of it? And why does it hurt awfully that I can't? It's as if it's tearing me apart. No matter how hard I try. I never feel relieved but scared. That's why I ran, after I told Kirsten. I had the feeling as if I had told them too much, as if I have been already too close to them. What's scaring me?

"A penny for your thoughts." Sandy drags me out of…what ever was going on in my head. I only shrug my shoulders.

"Do we want to try it then?" He asks. I only shrug my shoulders. I don't know what I want to try and if I want to try something or anything.

"Was this a yes, a no or an I don't care?"

"Yes." I say. I don't want to disappoint him. The urge to please them, to…make them happy…maybe even proud of their little social project forbids me to say no. Why do I feel like that? I didn't even care what my own Mum or my own Dad thought. I never would have come to the conclusion to make something, only for them being pleased or happy or both.

"That's good. And now go back to your breakfast. You haven't even eaten half of it. What do you think? Shell I let Seth smuggle some Thai food into the hospital?" How is he doing this? No matter how strained an atmosphere is he usually manages to lighten it up. It must be genetic, because Seth is the same.

"Uh…no…thanks…but…if Seth…could come without too, it…would be cool." I answer.

"Of course. I think he's getting unused to be an only child."

I managed to eat half of the breakfast, afterwards I fell back to sleep. Hell, these drugs really knock me out and I don't think I like this effect.

"Hey bro! Good you'll be awake. Reading comics alone is really boring. I don't know how I managed to survive doing all the fun stuff alone." Seth starts to babble when I wake up.

"Hey you too Seth." I only answer and try to get up in a sitting position. The wounds on my back and stomach still ache, but it's okay. The only really bothering part of my body is my leg. Hell, I thought the pain will ease off one time.

"So how do you feel?"

"Stoned." I don't care that Seth probably doesn't know how it feels to be stones. What does probably mean, I'm sure he doesn't. But that's the best description of the effect the drugs use to have. I would be grateful if they could ease off the pain as well.

"Oh…okay…interesting way to describe your current state. So the drugs they give you seem to be good? Dude, take care that you don't become a junkie or something."

"Shut up Seth." But I give him a lopsided smile, so he understands how this is meant.

"Okay, no junkie jokes, promised. So when do you think they release you out of your prison?"

"The sooner the better." Fact: I can't stand hospitals. I hate them. Ew…no, I never want to come back again.

"Can imagine, hey I can't wait for you to come home. I have this amazing new videogame, X-men, you know the game to the movie. It's awesome, but a little boring if you play it alone."

"X-men? Cool." I sometimes ask myself whether Seth will be able sometime to leave his comic world. I don't wanna imagine him and Summer moving together and he's having to separate from his comic collection. And I'm sure Summer doesn't know any regrets.

"Oh, before I forget, here. I have brought you the comics of the last few weeks. So you'll be up to date again." He raises a pile of comics and…a throbbing pain runs through me leg into my spine and leaves through my skull.

"Ouch! Seth!" I shout out. He had dropped them onto my leg – the injured one.

"Oh…sorry man. I…didn't mean to…Is…is that…oh shit. I really didn't want to." Seth starts to stammer. Worse of all the pain doesn't seem to leave, but I don't want Seth noticing anything. Gritting teeth and hope for the best.

After Seth's visit Kirsten comes back again. Hell, can't I have one minute for myself?

"Hey honey, are you better today?" She asks me, when she enters the room. No, I don't want to answer this question anymore. I hate this question.

"Well, I think you have to, because Dr. Conrad says you can leave latest on Friday in two weeks under the condition that we keep you from moving around. Your leg needs a lot of rest." Friday? So, Friday is good because I can leave this place. But also Friday is not good because of the… My heart feels heavy once again.

"What's wrong?" She asks me. I look up at her. "Is it because of your Dad's funeral?"

"Dunno." Yes it is. I only don't dare to tell you. She sits down on the bed and put an arm around me. It's the same discomfort spreading through my body as comfort. Shit, I am screwed.

"You know that we'll be there, do you?" I only nod. "I can imagine that this must be hard for you. I felt awful when my Mum died. I thought I never could get over it, but…somehow I did. We're there for you and we deal with it."

"Thanks." I only manage to say. I have to respond to this. I only don't know what is appropriate in such situations.

"It's okay. Now let us come to some other thoughts or do you wanna talk about it? If you want to, no matter when, you can come to me, okay?" I only nod. Her way of talking, the heart she's putting in every word and the fact that she's meaning it – it's intimidating. She puts out a new Sudoku book and sits down next to me. I can't help to solve it for too long. I'm still too tired and my leg starts to ache again.

"Are you tired?"

"A little." I mumble.

"Then go back to sleep." I turn on my side. Man, am I glad that I can lie on my side again. Lying on an aching back is everything else then relaxed. I feel how she tucks me in. My Mum never tucked me in. It had been my Dad's job, until he was put into jail. Shit. Every thought about my Dad feels like a knife stabbing in my heart. I feel how she strokes over my cheek again. My eyelids feel heavy and I just close them.


	29. Three down one more to go

_**Three down one more to go**_

**O**nce again we sit in Dr. Kim's office together with some teachers, including his history teacher. How I hate this man. If we would be alone I would tell him what I think he is. But unfortunately we aren't and I have to think of both my sons in first place and not my own satisfaction. We need to talk to her, about Ryan, about whom else? We can take him home this week. But he's still not able to attend school and the year is nearly over. He had missed several important tests and assignments. My wife and I both know where this is leading to and we need to find another solution.

"Well Mrs. and Mr. Cohen, I guess you already can imagine why we're here today." Dr. Kim starts.

"I'm afraid to say, but according to Ryan's absence and his not attendance at tests and assignments he'll have to repeat this year." And did you think of how to tell him that? This was what he tried to prevent. This was what he had been working so hard for.

"But the year isn't over yet, so isn't there any possibility he can catch up on the tests and assignments?" My wife asks.

"Usually yes, but as you told me your son won't attend school again in the foreseeable future, so I have no idea how this should work." This woman is ice cold. I ask myself whether she has kids her own.

"I think it's a good solution for all of us, if Ryan repeats this year. His achievements were far away from those of the last quarter. And promoting him to the next grade would only be more stress for him. He has to catch up all topics he had missed this year and this added to the next grades topics it's impossible. It'll only be frustrating for him, if we expose him to such a pressure." One of the teachers says. Smart ass. Did he think of the mental stress coming up to our son, if he has to repeat this year? He would give up and then?

"Mrs. and Mr. Cohen, I'm really sorry to say that, as I think that Ryan is quite an intelligent boy. But regarding to what has happened to him lately and his grades it's obvious that he's overtaxed and I think the best thing we can do is reducing the pressure on a minimum for him. He'll have time to recover from everything and can start from new next year." Ah, now she's even a psychologist. Nobody of them had bothered getting to know the boy otherwise none of them would talk like that.

"Sorry Dr. Kim, but I don't share your opinion in this. It'll only be another setback for him and I doubt he can handle this. If you take away the only chance he has left, he'll give up and I doubt he'll ever come back onto his feet again." They need to see how wrong this decision would be.

"Mr. Cohen, we can't take care of every student's little aliments." Another teacher says. Little aliment? I would like to know what he's thinking about Aids and cancer.

"And why not? As far as I know you've been able to consider Marissa Cooper's rotten family life. Ryan's story is nothing different. So why can't you consider this either."

"No different? Let us see, maybe we need to consider where Ryan comes from and where from Marissa. Maybe we need to consider who Ryan's parents are and who are Marissa's. Honestly it only had been a matter of time until Ryan shows that he's not capable of adapting to our standards. Maybe you should better think of sending him to a public school. I guess he fits better there than here." Dr. Bork. This fucking asshole of history teacher. My wife looks at me, but this time she can't stop me. We're paying so much money for this school. I don't need to listen to this.

"Who Ryan's parents are? You're telling us, we're such awful parents that Ryan doesn't deserve a chance? Then I have to consider it as wonder that my other son Seth is allowed to attend this school further on?" I start. This bastard of a teacher won't ever again talk like this about my son. He didn't grow up in the best area of California and his real parents weren't the best one could think about, but I won't allow anyone blaming the boy for it.

"Mr. Cohen you know what I mean, I was talking about his real parents, not his foster parents." If he only knew how deep the hole already is he's digging himself.

"We are his real parents." I only answer.

"Mr. Cohen this is not the right place for discussing emotional issues."

"Do you want to have a look onto the adoption papers?" My wife starts. We'll show him who Ryan's parents are and from where he comes from. He grew up in Chino, but it doesn't mean that he comes from there – no, not since he's living with us.

"What and…you really thought about this carefully? I mean this can have dangerous consequences." Dr. Bork starts to stammer.

"I think this is not the right place for emotional issues." I only answer and then he's quiet.

"Excuse if I interfere," Mrs. Turner starts. She's the last one I needed. "Ryan only won't be able to come to school. But he'll be able to do normal school work." What's her point?

"Yes." My wife answers.

"Well, why don't we give him homework and assignments he can solve at home and his…brother Seth can hand them in for him. Then we'll be able to see whether he still meets the demands and he'll be able to work for making this grade. Thus we're able to consider our standards and his – sorry for saying that – Ryan's current physical and mental state."

"For me this sounds like a fair solution. What do you think?" Dr. Kim asks.

"I don't see any problems. As I already have a plan for the rest of the year, it's not much more work to work something out for Ryan." His – I guess maths teacher – says.

"Do the others agree with it?" Dr. Kim asks. It's a load off my mind, when I see the other teachers agree as well – although Dr. Bork doesn't look too happy about this solution. But I don't care about this anyway.

"Mrs. and Mr. Cohen?" Dr. Kim asks as at the end.

"Of course, this would be great. I think it'll be good for Ryan to be able to work on his achievements." My wife answers and I agree. I'm sure it'll help Ryan, not to fall into a hole of depression. He takes chances, when he gets them.

One down, three more to go. Meaning: getting Ryan home, getting over with the funeral and making our son realize that a therapist might not be the worse solution of all. Am I glad when we're over with that and can start our peaceful and quiet family life again. We come home and our other son is already waiting for us.

"Hey, how did it go?" He asks us. I'm glad I neither have to tell him that Ryan has to go to another school, nor that they won't be in the same year – for now.

"Quite well. They give Ryan a chance to make it trough this year, although of his long absence." I answer him. I see the smile on his face, at least one who allows me to cheer him up.

"That's great and I'll promise everything in my brotherly power to help him making it through this year. I mean he had helped me once, now it's my turn."

"You're not going to do his homework. We've had this problem once. I don't want to have to watch you making your homework again." My wife answers.

"I never would do that." Oh yes, of course. Nobody of them. It's amazing to see their relationship growing. If one didn't know their story, one would think they're brothers.

"Besides, I don't want to panic or something, but tomorrow Ryan is coming home, right? And we want to go to his Dad's funeral, right? I mean, did you think how to get Ryan through that day? Despite an expectable exhaustion he might suffer from…well you know one of his usual I'm-a-screwed-up-kid-not-able-to-cope-with-my-emotions-outbursts and I don't think this is too good for his health." Even our son realized what was wrong. Wow. Why didn't Ryan too?

"Then it's our job, to hinder him from running." My wife says.

"Yeah…well, I don't know, but enchaining your kids, is that legal?" Although this is not funny at all, my son manages to lighten up the mood about this topic. Well, the natural and healthy Cohen sarcasm.

"I don't think this is necessary, considering his leg."

"Don't underestimate his will. Think about Dr. Xavier. He's hiding his mental power, but only with his will he can kill hundreds of people at one go."

"Seth, this is a comic." My wife answers. Will my son ever grow out of comics?

"But it basis on an actual event."

"Yes, which one." I ask him.

"Uh…right…I…forgot about it. But know what? I go and do some internet research." And with these words he's gone.

The next day comes a little too early for my taste. Not that I don't want to have my son home. But…well my other son had scared me a little and I don't feel prepared enough for another round of outbursts. I'm on my way to the hospital. When I enter his room Dr. Conrad is showing him how to put on the knee brace. It really looks smaller and…more comfortable than the former ones.

"Okay, no moving or weight on this leg and you should wear the braces all the time, despite when you take a shower or the knee is swollen, what might happen often the next week, but should get better afterwards. And then you know steadying and cooling. All right?" My son only nods. I see the wounds on his leg and get reminded of how much luck he must have had, when he get off the accident that lightly. I see how he struggles to put on his jeans.

"Need some help?" I ask. He looks at me. He hadn't noticed that I was there.

"Uh…no thanks." After a few more seconds he manages to pull it on, on his own.

"You should let him doing everything on his own, as far as he's capable of." The doctor tells me. He might be right, but it's hard to stick to this.

"Okay, I guess you can take him with you and I don't want to see him any sooner than in a year. Understood?" He asks me son, who again only nods.

"C'mon kid, let's leave this place." He's insecure in the use of his crutches. I put a hand on his back, to make him aware of that I'm there to help just in case. He doesn't seem to notice. He's too concentrated on holding the balance on his crutches. I help him to get into the car and there it is. He's sitting on the passenger side and I'm driving. Panic crawls up my spine. My head lives through the night again and again. I can't drive. What if something happens? I close my eyes and take some deep breaths. It's not raining, it's no long way home and it had been an accident that doesn't have to happen twice to me. When I open my eyes again, I calmed down a bit. I drive as carefully as I can. Not only because of my fear of another accident, but because every bump and bounce is hurting his leg. When pull up the driveway my wife's already waiting for us. I get out of the car. My wife is already there to help our son, but this is my job.

"C'mon kid, let me help you." He carefully gets out of the car and he doesn't even fight my help.

"Hey honey, how are you?" My wife takes him into a tough embrace. These crutches really have the advantage that the boy isn't able to flee from our help and love.

"Tired." He answers.

"C'mon, let's get you settled." She carefully puts and arm around his waist. These crutches aren't safe.

"Okay Ryan, as we thought it could be a little difficult for you to get up stair on these crutches, we allow you to go back into the pool house. But don't even think this is your opportunity to get rid of us, because if you don't come in here, we easily can come in there. We'll force you to be social with us and this is no joke." My wife declares when we enter the kitchen. Well, two down only two more to go.

"Declaration of war, uh?" Ryan asks shyly.

"Oh yes." I only answer.

"So do you want something to eat or to drink?" My wife asks him, challenging.

"Uh…thanks…but…can…can I just lie down a bit…be…before…you know what?" And no, he's not ready for it. This can be a long trip for today. I look at my wife and she nods.

"C'mon kid, let's get you to the pool house." And then we carefully head for the pool house. As soon as the boy lay down, he fell asleep. I sometimes think it's some kind of defence mechanism.

So worse I feel that I have to wake him up out of his protection two hours later.

"Hey kid, time to get up." I gently pet his shoulder and feel bones where used to be muscles before. He looks so young when he's sleeping.

"mmm." I start to get used to this answer as: I'm awake.

"Do you need any help to get ready?" He slowly sits up and looks at me. He looks like someone awaking from deep sleep.

"Help? Uh…yeah…uh no…thanks…but I should be capable to put on my cloths alone." He answers. He doesn't look too confident.

"Okay, you have thirty minutes." I tell him and then leave.

"How is he?" My wife asks. Worry in her eyes tells me that she isn't sure about the funeral.

"Dunno." I admit. Our first born comes down stairs, already dressed.

"Is Ryan awake?" He asks. Even his face is marked with concern.

"Yes."

"Then I go and see…if he needs any help." I could tell him what Ryan told me. But I don't want to stop him. Ryan probably appreciates his presence.

It doesn't take long and both our sons step in. Seth helping Ryan with the doors.

"I go get the car." My wife says.

"You're ready for this?" I ask him.

"Is it possible to be ready for your Dad's funeral?" He asks back and I know what he wants to tell me. He is far away from ready.

It's a quiet and honourable funeral. Soldiers carrying the caskets of their comrades, covered with our flag. The military procedure makes shivers run down my spine and I can't help but flinch inwardly when the procedural guns get shot. I watch my boy. He's watching it all motionless and empty eyed. The caskets were let into the graves.

"Sandy, can…can we go now?" He looks at me and…he had lost the shell of maturity? There's a blond kid standing in front of me – a tired one. I put my hands onto his shoulders. Again he flinches.

"Are you sure?" I don't want him to make decisions he might regret in a few years. He nods.

"Okay, let's go." I had promised him we go, when he wants to and he had stayed longer than I thought he would. I put an arm around his waist – tight. I have the feeling as if he brakes apart every second.

"Sir, you already want to leave?" A Sergeant asks us.

"Yes." Why does he care? They don't even care that they send fathers into death with such wars and now care why we leave?

"May I ask for a reason?" I look at my wife and our eldest son to tell them they should already go on and wait at the car for us.

"I can't stay these lies." My son answers.

"Pardon, I guess I don't understand." The Sergeant says.

"My Dad robs a gas station, because he saw no other way to maintain his family and you lock him up for ten years, only because there had been a fucking gun in his car. A gun he didn't even use then. But when he kills countless innocents with your guns in some irrational and unnecessary war, because even without Iraq being a democracy we're able to maintain our families, he's a hero. That's what I mean." My son says. He's not talking a lot. But when he is, his words have a lot of power and leaves even Sergeants speechless.


	30. Too much

_**Too much**_

**A**fter we got home he had disappeared in the pool house. I couldn't realize my plans of making him social – forcing him to be. I felt too sorry for him, as if I had been capable of forcing him to share his mood with us. But this morning is the beginning of a new day. He'll have to accept us as his family - if he wants to or not. I won't allow him to burry himself in his sadness. I go to the pool house. The blinds are still shut. I silently step in. He's sleeping. I'm glad he's at least sleeping. But I'm sure it's a drug induced sleep. He had refused pain killers. But it had been obvious his leg was bothering him badly. I had to talk to him for hours and eventually he had taken them and fell asleep. I sit down on the edge of the bed.

"Hey sweetie, time to get up." I stroke over his cheek. The cuts are still visible, but they don't look as dangerous as they had in the night of the accident.

"Wanna sleep." He mumbles.

"Honey, you're sleeping since five in the afternoon. Now it's ten. Seventeen hours should be enough. Did you even wake up only for a minute?"

"No." He says and crawls even more under his blanket.

"Okay, you can get up now or I go and get Seth." I warn him.

"You're so evil." He answers. When he hates something, then it's long and loud conversations in the morning. He slowly struggles out of bed and reaches for the crutches.

"Your brace?"

"Not when I'm taking a shower." He says and gets up. He had decided to sleep only in his boxers and a wide t-shirt, as every other clothing is scratching on his wounds.

"Do you need help with the shower?" I ask him. Shocked glances look at me. I laugh. He's really…shy?

"Don't worry. I would have called Sandy, but just for you to know. You can't have anything, I haven't seen already."

"Good that at least you're sure about that, but no thanks, I can manage on my own." A small cheeky smile appears on his face, but the sadness remains in his eyes. Nevertheless do I have the feeling as if things can get better when we just try hard enough.

"Bragger." I call out and throw a pillow after him.

It takes a little until he enters the kitchen. He's wearing wide sweaters, as any other leg clothing would be too tight on his leg.

"Brace?" I ask. I don't want him to risk his recovery. It's my job to take care that he follows the rules.

"Doesn't fit. Too swollen." He says and pulls up one trouser and yes, it looks awful. It's hurtful to see that your kid is that bad injured and you can't do anything about it.

"Okay, then go sit down on the couch and I bring you an ice pack." I determine and he obeys.

"A wonderful morning isn't it?" My husband enters the kitchen, he smells after the ocean, as he usually does when he's fresh back from surfing. He kisses me and then peers into the living room.

"Hey kid, how are you?"

"Never ask this question again." Yes, he's a little grumpy this morning. Okay last day had been rough and his leg is probably bothering him too.

"Okay, how do you feel?" Always this lawyer pernicketiness.

"Nothing related to it." Ryan grumbles. I start to feel really sorry for him.

"Alright, alright, is your leg okay?"

"It's just swollen." I step in. I don't want Ryan to blow up like a balloon. I hand him the ice pack and a mug of coffee.

"Thanks."

"And what do you wanna eat?" I ask him. He's too thin. Neither his trousers nor his t-shirts fit. He has to make weight. I can see bones where used to be well trained muscles.

"Uhm…I…I'm not hungry…sorry."

"Oh no, this is not happening."

"Black coffee and cereals out of the box." I hear my other son calling from the background. Wow, we managed to get all together on a Saturday morning. That's rare or better: I should start to make it a new family-ritual.

"Seth, he needs something more nutritious than that."

"Was just an idea." He replies.

"Know what, I make you a bagel." My husband says and when he decided to make a bagel for someone, you can't stop him.

"Cool, for me too." Our eldest says and flops down on the couch next to our new son - youngest. It's funny to think about Ryan as the youngest, as he's behaving more mature than Seth, but it's also in somehow cute.

"Uh…man that's gross." He says and points at Ryan's knee.

"Thanks, always some encouraging words."

"Here you two." My husband hands them the bagels. When I look at Ryan I have a curious feeling about him. He looks nervous as if he's…close to run. There is something in his eyes telling me that he feels intimidated, but I have no idea what is intimidating him. He slowly eats the bagel. When Seth already starts his third, Ryan still hasn't half finished his first one. I look at Sandy, but we both can't find a solution for this. In a sudden Ryan puts the rest of the bagel on the couch table and starts to leave.

"Hey, wait, where do you think you're going?" I ask him.

"I…I…just…can't…need some space…sorry." He stammers in a whispering voice. I look at my husband who puts a calming hand onto my shoulder when we watch our son leaving.

"Did I say something wrong or stuff?" Our eldest asks.

"No honey, you didn't. Ryan…isn't ready for so much family." I try to explain him.

"We should try it step by step, if we don't want to push him away." And there we are again faced with the fact that the boy doesn't want to be a part of this family – or as he had said so often: that he can't be. We decide to give him the space he needs. It's hard to accept but we have to accept it.

Later the day I go back to the pool house. Again he's lying on his bed, but he isn't sleeping.

"Hey." I say. He looks up from the book he was reading in and offers me a lopsided smile. I go to him and sit down on the bed. He shifts away. Again I'm too close.

"Would you like to tell me what was going on little while ago?" I ask him. He doesn't look at me.

"Dunno…sorry." He only answers. I sigh.

"Are you sure?"

"I…just need some time to get my head around it." He says. I rub his back.

"Okay, but don't forget no lonely brooding time." I tell him and then leave.

"Do you think I can…ask him for a round play station?" My eldest son asks when I enter the kitchen.

"I think so." I answer. He looks at me questioning.

"Do you…think he'll start to behave normal again?" He asks on concerned.

"I'm sure he will. He only needs some time." My son looks at me, but doesn't seem to be satisfied with my answer.

"You have to understand that he has a rough time lying behind him. Being a family isn't easy for him."

"How can that be not easy? I mean, you come here and start to, or not?"

"That's what we thought before too, but as it seems it's not as easy. But you shouldn't think about that. Now go to him." I say. I don't want my eldest to worry about something like that. He's too young for that.

The rest of the day goes by eventless. Seth spends the whole day with Ryan playing videogames in the pool house and the laughter coming out of there, assures me that both are okay. I order Thai for dinner and I'm surprised that both boys come to the main house, without a special invitation. Okay, with Seth it's normal, but Ryan usually needs some words before he comes in here – despite for breakfast.

"Hey boys, dinner's arriving every second. You can start to set the table." I tell them, while I start to get the plates out of the cupboards.

"Oh…yeah…well Seth can…Ryan can…try to help or just sit down on the couch again." I correct myself, when I realize that Ryan probably is a little too occupied with his crutches as he was able to set the table.

"Hell man, you're lucky being handicapped. This gives you a break from commander of commandments." My son says.

"Yeah…thanks…wanna switch?" Ryan asks him.

"Uh…concerning your really…sorry man but you know lies aren't my thing, your really ugly looking leg wouldn't fit into my concept of begin a sexy man. I don't want to imagine Summer when she is faced with…Ew…no."

"Seth you can be so kind-hearted." I only answer. I'm glad Ryan understands his kind of humour. Not everybody does.

"Do you need an ice pack for your knee?" I ask him.

"Uh…no…I just managed to put the brace on." He answers. The doorbell rings and I go to open. It's our first real family dinner since weeks. All four together. I really missed these times. I need to be stricter about those family appointments.

"Sandy, dinner's ready!" I call upstairs. He had disappeared in his study. He had called his mother – the Nana – hoping she could give us some tips how to handle Ryan, but her tip was the same we're thinking about months: therapist. So, Sandy had started to search for someone who is good with kids. I don't tell him that I already know someone, because if I don't keep him busy, he would start smothering the boy and this wouldn't be good for him or us.

"I'm on my way." I hear my husband, when he's already half the way downstairs. He hands me a sheet of paper.

"I thought this might be a good solution." I start to laugh.

"If you had asked me, I could have given you this before."

"Well, now…only Ryan needs to start to…"

"Hey guys, can you hurry up a little? I'm starving." Our eldest interrupts us.

"We're coming." I say to calm him and then we all sit down at the dinner table. I can't help, but watch Ryan carefully. He's hesitating to sit down with us. He ducks his head and switches into the mute modus. He tries to become invisible in somehow. If one wouldn't look up from ones plate, nobody would notice he was there. I fill his plate, after his attempt to get away with some Pa Tai didn't work. I can see he's listening to the tales of Seth and Sandy, but he's too shy to add something. He's quiet – too quiet. And again I'm aware of his nervousness. It's not his gestures. He's not becoming fidgety. No, he more and more withdraws from us into his shell.

"Ryan, what do you think?" My husband asks. He and my son have a vivid conversation about what to watch on TV this evening. We have lost so many habits. But with Ryan coming to us, we try to start them from new again. That's good, because I think family habits can help him to find his way into our family.

"Uh…What?…sorry…"

"I just would like to know, what you would like to watch on TV this evening." My husband repeats his question. Ryan only shrugs his shoulders.

"There must be something. We have over hundred channels. It's impossible not to find something you like to watch." Seth starts to encourage Ryan.

"I really don't know. I…never cared about what's on TV."

"Oh…well, than you have to change this. This is such an important thing to think about. What you watch on TV can determine your whole live. I give you thirty minutes to think about it." Seth says and wants to get up.

"Seth, please stay seated." I tell him. Ryan's plate isn't even half eaten and I won't allow him to starve.

"But I need to call Summer." He replies.

"I know, but as long as not everybody of us has finished, nobody leaves dinner." I determine. Ryan's face tells me, he doesn't like this solution.

"Okay…Ryan could you please hurry up?" My son asks.

"But…I can't eat all of this." Ryan answers.

"Ryan, don't even start discussing about this." I announce him and then he starts slowly eating. I'm glad. I can't look at this thin form anymore. Okay, Seth is very thin, but he's eating enough. I don't see that he's really fighting with what is on his plate. Straight after dinner both our sons disappear one upstairs, the other one in his pool house. I follow him. I don't want him to burry himself in loneliness. I have told him from the very beginning and I'll hinder him. When I knock on the door, nobody answers. I step in. The room is empty? No, the light in the bathroom is on and the tap water runs. I go to see what's going on and there he's leaning over the basin, his stomach fighting its contents.

"Oh honey." I step over to him and rub his back. He's sweating awfully and it seems as if every retching is causing some pain. He rinses his mouth with water when his body had decided that throwing up had to be finished.

"Told you that it was too much." He only says and passes me.

"I know. I…was a little too ambitious to get you back to your former eating habits." He sits down on the bed.

"So, do you come back with me? We're thinking about a movie night." I ask him, but his eyes already tell me he has had enough family for the day.

"Uh…thanks…but I rather like staying here. Don't…don't feel too good." He answers shyly. For today I must admit my defeat. I can't win this battle today.

"Okay, but if you need something, let us know." And with a heavy heart I leave him.

When I check on him later the night, he's already sleeping. At least he can sleep again. The blanket is sprawled over the floor. He has had a nightmare again, I guess. That's the usual mess I find, when he didn't dream well. I pick it up and tuck him in. I don't know whether he likes to be tucked in. I just do so.


	31. Make him stay

**A/N.:** This chapter is dedicated to my good friend Olly. Chiclete: don't be mad at me for this, I promise this will never ever happen again!

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_**Make him stay**_

**H**eadache is the only thing I can think about, when I wake up the next morning. I feel so hangover. Did I…drink last night? I don't know. A throbbing pain in my leg brings me back to the reality: probably not, because for getting drunk I needed to be able to walk.

"Hey kid, already awake on this Monday morning?" Sandy asks. He's sitting in one of the basket chairs. Monday? What happened to Sunday.

"Gave us quiet a scare yesterday." He goes on. Yesterday? What happened yesterday?  
"Do you remember something?" I only shake my head. What had happened to my brain? Don't tell me it is doomed to be crippled as well. I'm not going to live on as vegetable.

"Maybe better that way. Your leg had been bothering you quite bad. We had to call a doctor and he gave you something against the pain. You immediately fell asleep and didn't wake up again." Okay, maybe really better that I don't remember it.

"Don't worry. The doctor said that the change of the weather was the reason for the pain. You're officially our personal weatherman from now on." And this is funny? I don't think so. There's nothing funny about.

"Besides Summer and Marissa are finally back from France. If you want to see your girlfriend this morning, you should hurry up. She'll pick up Seth for school." Hu? Wait this means the whole six weeks were over. Where are those six weeks? I can't remember those six weeks – at least not completely.

"Stupid question…what did I do in those six weeks?" I ask. I'm really scared.

"You spend most of it in hospital, why?"

"Just…can't remember those six weeks are already over." I admit and climb out of bed. Not being able to use your leg as you used to sucks and I don't even want to think of how long it's going like that.

"Don't worry. It's okay. Do you need any help?" He asks.

"No…thanks." I only answer and then close the bathroom door. Fact, my face looks like crap and that's not only because of the fading cuts, which supposed to leave no scars. Sorry, I don't think this is happening – not to me. I turn on the shower and the hot steaming water relaxes my muscles or what's left from them. Kirsten is right. I really lost a lot of weight. But eating isn't my hobby right now. It's the same old habit: something is bothering me and my stomach answers with a general strike. It never had been different. Okay it has, because my mother never had cared, whether I was eating or not. I guess she thought it was even better, when I didn't eat, because she could save the money for another bottle of booze. My skin starts to burn. My sign to know the shower is finished. I slowly step out of the shower. I'm too afraid I might slip and…yes just hurt my knee or my leg even further. I put on some cloths and it's freaking me out that jeans is not really happening today. This fabric is just…too scrappy on my wounds. Shit. I start to really hate this shit and when I say hate then I'm meaning hate. I slowly make my way into the kitchen.

"Hey Ryan, good to see you awake. Is your leg better this morning?" Kirsten asks and again this concerned look. I whish I wouldn't have gotten up yet.

"Here." Sandy hands me a bagel, but my stomach is so not willing to work already this morning.

"C'mon Ryan. You haven't eaten anything yesterday, you must be hungry." He says. Only now I notice I've been staring at the bagel. I start to eat. Honestly, no matter what I'm doing, I won't even consider it as eating myself.

"Hi!" And on top of it Summer and Marissa enter the kitchen. Not that I'm not happy to see her again, but this is not the best moment to be chosen.

"Ryan!" She calls out and then runs into my arms. She kisses me. Her lips still smooth like velvet. She tastes like the sweetest peach.

"How are you?" She asks. I don't let her know that I can't hear this question anymore.

"Okay, I guess." I answer.

"Do you come with us?" She asks full of expectation.

"Not today." I answer.

"Give him two or three weeks for his leg. Then I'm sure he's more than likely to go to school." Sandy answers.

"Can…can I come by after school today?" She asks I look at Sandy and Kirsten. I'm not sure what they think about this.

"Of course. I told you, when he's out of hospital, he'll need you." Sandy answers and I start to wonder, when they had time to talk to each other and what they were talking about.

"I don't want to disturb our turtle doves, but we shell hurry up, if we don't want to be late." Summer says.

"Oh no, not until Ryan hasn't finished breakfast." Kirsten can be so embarrassing.

"Honey, I have an appointment." Sandy starts protesting.

"Know what, I'm starving." Marissa says and then takes a huge bite from the bagel, so that I can finish the rest, she left.

"Okay, this one time, I just pretend as if I haven't seen anything." Kirsten says, but smiles.

"See you later." Marissa says and then leaves with the others.

In the evening someone knocks on the door again. It's Marissa. She goes through the pool house and starts shutting the blinds. Then she switches off the light and lightens some small candles – even enough so I can see her in her whole beauty.

"Hey." She says and gives me a passionate kiss. Her tongue touches mine. Her tongue is smooth like silk.

"Did you get all my post cards?" She asks in a hoarse sexy voice. I feel pins and needles all over my body.

"Most of them." I answer. She's looking into my eyes. Her eyes are so intensive. She starts stroking the inside of my thigh. I feel how the part down there starts to get hot. I have to fight to control myself.

"I know that you wanted to run." She says and comes closer to me. She lies above me, her hand slowly sliding higher and higher. She starts kissing me again. I sling my arms around her smooth body, my hands slowly sliding under her blouse.

"I know that you're afraid. You're freaking out, every time someone comes to close to you and then you run." She whispers into my ear. Her hot breath spreads through every of my body's fibre.

"And what suggest you to do to help it?" I ask her. She looks deep into my eyes. Her hands touching my chest and her breath goes shallow, but fast.

"Well, I know what to do to make you stay with me." She says and then slowly pulls my t-shirt off. She lies flat on my lap. My hands start to massage her breasts. They are sturdy like ripe peaches. Her breath goes faster and meets my face. She starts kissing my chest and then kisses down, stopping at my belt. She's opening it. I start unbuttoning her blouse. She strips it off.

"What about school?" I ask her.

"I can stay over night." She whispers, her hands sliding slowly under my trousers. Her hands are hot.

"I love you." She moans into my ear.

"I'll never leave you again." I tell her. My hands slip under her bra and I feel how her nipples harden. I open it. She silently moans. I feel how our skin starts to melt into each other. We two start to become one.

"Never stop touching my like that." She says and then pulls of my belt. I unbutton her trousers. She strips them off. My hands sliding down her body. I take her into my arms and then we turn to the other side of the bed. Now I'm lying above her. My hands slowly sliding from her breast, down her thigh. She giggles.

"Shell I tell you a secret?" She whispers, both her arms slung around my neck. "You're the first." She starts nibbling my ear.

"I'll be extra carefully." I reply. The heat radiating from her body pushes me into ecstasy. I start to lose control of time and space. I'm kissing her upper body. When I reach her navel her body tenses up. I slowly lick it. It tastes like the sweetest passion. She starts to pull my pants of. I strip them off and I feel her hand. I never have felt such smooth hands. Her hands slide under my boxers. My kisses reach her lace pant. I kiss her there. Her body tenses up more. Her back lifts from the bed and I can strip her pants off. My hands start touching her. Her body's heat is stronger than the hottest fire. She strips of my boxers. I reach out for the drawer under the nightstand.

"Let me do this." She whispers and unwraps the condom. My hands are gently guiding hers. She slings her arms around my waist. I pull the blanket above us. I don't want her loosing the heat. Her breath goes faster and my heart follows this rhythm.

"Ready?" I whisper. She only nods I lower my body. We're melting into each other. Her body's heat meets mine. A burning sensation runs through my body. Her grip around my neck tightens. She's moaning with pleasure and I never want to stop making her happy. I never want to separate from her. Our bodies slowly move in the same rhythm. It's one body. I kiss her neck. Her body tenses up more and more. She screams a little. I lift from her body.

"No, don't stop. Let us do it the whole night long." She whispers and I lower my body again. I sling my arms around her body, her well shaped butt in my hands and her hands massaging my thigh. We have our rhythm. My body feels as if it's in fire. Every fibre is tensed up. She takes my hand and slowly slides it down her navel. I start licking it again. Her breath goes faster and faster.

"Never stop." She says. "I love you. Don't dare leaving me alone." My tongue slide up her body and I kiss her again. Now she slings her hands around me and then she sits on me. Her face so full of pleasure, my hands around her thin pelvis her hands on me. I again sling my hands around her and again lie above her.

"I like it more that way." I whisper. Her moans getting more and more intense.

"If this is what you learn in Chino, it was worth it growing up there." She whispers. She starts kissing my navel now. Our bodies tense up more and more. We're one body. It feels as if this single body is surrounded by fire. My heart starts beating faster with every of her moans.

"I love you." She says again and again and then we're caught in a hot flash. Our body moves faster and wilder. Her voice in my ears. Her hands around my neck. Her tongue on my body. Everything around us vanishes. We're somewhere between space and time. Her moans getting more and more intensive. Our body is crying for more, more heat. We know we're burning. Only ashes will remain. We don't care. Our body wants more. Our body is crying for us: for her hands on my hips, her lips on my navel and her voice in my ear, for my tongue licking her centre of passion - before entering her again and again -, for my hands sliding down the inside of her burning legs, my lips playing with her. She doesn't allow me to leave her. She holds me tight. I can't escape from her. I have no choice. I'm hers. Every fibre, every emotion, every thought of mine belong to her, for ever. Our body tenses up one more time. I never have felt such a heat before. It's spreading from our centre into every cell of our body. She kisses me and I feel how her body slowly relaxes again. Her body is covered in sweat, but I don't care. I slowly lift from her body and lie down next to her. She snuggles into my arm, our bodies keeping the comforting heat. I pull her tighter and kiss.

"This was wonderful. I never thought that this is so amazing." She says and then falls asleep. We meet each other in our dreams.


	32. Noticed

**A/N.:** Okay I hope you like this chapter more than the last one.

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_**Noticed**_

**I** pour a mug of coffee. My glance wanders to the pool house and the shut blinds. He needs a lot of rest, if he wants to recovery fully from the accident. I only hope he'll one day. I still feel bad for what I've done, when I look at him. The door to the pool house opens. Wow, he's early. But staying in hospital beds for weeks must …Marissa? She came early. I see Ryan standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. They're talking about something and she laughs. They both wear this expression on their face. I know when I saw it on Kirsten's face. It was after our… Alright, I need to talk to him. Oh God. I…okay, I try to see it that way: she loves him and this is good, as it can…help him to recover and…with his trust issues and…wow. I let out a deep breathe. They're coming towards the main house. Ryan's still insecure on his crutches. Shit. I can't let them notice that I noticed that…hell, what shell I do? I start to get busy in the kitchen.

"Hey honey." My wife comes downstairs and gives me a kiss.

"Good morning Sandy, good morning Kirsten." Marissa says shyly.

"Morning." Ryan greets us.

"Good morning Marissa…?" My wife looks at me. But we both say nothing.

"Good morning you two. Want some coffee and breakfast?" I ask them.

"Yes, thanks." Marissa answers. Okay, my plan not letting them notice that I noticed doesn't seem to work, as both look like caught red-handed.

"Morning folks. Marissa? Where's Summer?" Our eldest asks when he enters the kitchen.

"Uh…on her way I guess." Marissa answers.

"Oh…you're early then." Seth replies. He hadn't noticed anything. Of course he … one moment. He has a girlfriend too. That means that he and Summer …oh no. I knew I was going to have this conversation one day, but not two times at the same time. Okay, I can today talk to Ryan and tomorrow to Seth…I can even wait, until I notice that Seth and Summer…I mean, when I notice that Ryan and Marissa …then I should or…hell, how do I start this conversation? I planed it, but this plan seems to be a little out of place, as I'm sure Ryan is…a little too mature in case of sexuality. Why haven't I had this conversation, when Kirsten told me to?

"Yes, a lot of school work to catch up with. So, do you come Seth?" Marissa says.

"I thought Summer…"

"She's waiting at school."

"Oh…okay, then bye folks." Our eldest says and then we're alone. I look at my wife, she looks back. I look at Ryan and although his head is ducked I clearly can see that he blushes.

"So…is my assumption that Marissa stayed over night, right?" I ask him.

"Yes." His voice doesn't sound as confident as if he was already mature enough…well, as I never was caught by my mother I don't know what happens to one in such a situation.

"Are …are…you…you two…" My wife stammers.

"Having sex? Yes." He answers. He had won back his composure. Wow that's what I call fast and painless.

"And…did…did you…" My wife goes on.

"Use contraceptives? Yes we did." Okay, he's responsible. I like that. Well I would like it more when he wouldn't…but…they're so in love with each other. I can't forbade them having sex. And better that way, as if they would do it behind our backs, or?

"And…you…know how to use…"

"How to use them yes. Listen…I don't want to talk to you about my sex life, but…hell I grew up in Chino, she wasn't my first and I'm still no father." Still no father? What does he want to tell us through that? That…oh…oh my God. That…that's not good. Oh no, not good, not good. This is too much for me.

"Okay guys, then everything's clear now and I can head to work." I say and then just leave the house. How is it possible that such a conversation is more embarrassing for me than for him? Oh my God. I hope Seth never will start with this until his eighty. I can't handle having this conversation once again. Oh my God is it embarrassing. I need to focus my thoughts on something else. My case. But wait. He was having sex with Marissa and for having sex you need to trust your partner…hell maybe in Newport. In areas like Chino they do it, because of boredom. Not that I think that Ryan would misuse a girls trust I only…think I should stop thinking about it and just pretend as if nothing had happened. Everything is okay. Nothing had happened. I'm okay.

I come home late. When I enter the house my wife is already there and I hear the boys playing videogames. I look at…them. Four. Two girls, two men. And…my eldest son hadn't noticed that I'm home, because he's kissing his girl in front of my eyes. Oh my God. This is crying for a repetition of the conversation this morning.

"Hey you four." I greet all of them.

"Hi Mr. Cohen." Summer answers.

"Hi." Marissa.

"Hey Dad, you're late." Comes from my eldest.

"Hey Sandy." Ryan answers. I would like him to call me Dad, but this won't happen in a million years. He has no Dad anymore.

"Hey honey." My wife comes down stairs. How was your day?"

"Stressful." I answer and kiss her. "And yours?"

"I…well…I decided to…step back a little. It's just too much work and I want to be there for my kids. I can't stay in the office for the whole day." She answers. I look at her. She's stepping back from her work?

"That's great." I only answer. There's something going on, but nobody tells me. But this day was more than eventful anyway. I'm glad I now have time to relax. I go upstairs and lie down on the bed, before getting into some more comfortable cloths. When I go downstairs again, the girls are gone and my eldest sets the table, while Ryan is cooling his knee. It hurts to see how fragile he is – vulnerable. Worse of all is that his knee never will recover completely. He's too young for something like that. I can only hope he deals with it.

"Okay, dinner's ready." My wife says. We all sit down at the dinner table. My wife and I have agreed that we let Ryan himself decide how much he can eat. The last time we had forced him to eat he had to carry the can for it. We only need to have a look that it's enough for a boy his age.

"So boys, I was thinking about our next summer vacation." My wife starts. Vacation? We stopped having family vacations in summer, when Seth was…I don't know, but I'm sure it's since we came here. She's stepping back from her job, she wants summer vacations. That's more than curious.

"Mum, summer is over. Until next summer it's an eternity." Seth answers. Fact, he doesn't like these winter months, although I won't call it a winter without snow.

"Yes, but we should already plan. I don't want be faced with any bad surprises." She answers. I look at her and there is a new expression on her face. No, it's not new. I've seen it, but I don't know when. Then her face turns concerned and one look at Ryan explains why. He completely withdrew from this idea: his head ducked, playing with the foot on the plate. He doesn't look too comfortable now.

"If it's like that, what did you think about: another state or leaving the country, ocean or mountains?" Our eldest starts. He's all for it, of course. He loves travelling. We used to travel more, when we have been living in Berkeley. But maybe we can start this habit from new I'm sure Ryan would like to see some new places, although he doesn't look convinced right now. No wonder. He already has problems with us being his new family. Or better: all those family issues are in somehow a problem for him. As long as he can escape from us, it's okay, but on a family vacation he won't be able to. He would be stuck with us. I don't want to impute that he doesn't like us to him. But in somehow I see that he has problems – several.

"I don't care, what do you think?" My wife looks at our eldest who's chewing pleasurably and caught in his ideas of a family vacation.

"Well I think we should leave the country or at least leave as far from California that we need a plane. I'm sure Ryan would like to fly, as he never did before, right?" He looks at Ryan who barely lifts his head.

"Dunno…just…don't…think about me in that." He answers. I look at my wife and we both feel helpless again.

"Isn't there any place you like to see?" Seth starts.

"Just…never…thought to …spend my time somewhere else than Chino." He says. He never has had a dream – not even one to escape from his situation. How was it possible that…a boy in his age hadn't any dream? I used to think about the places I was going to visit, when I was grown up and earning my own money. In my thoughts I was visiting the huge cities of Europe, Australia, even Africa. I planed to travel around the world. I…just used it to escape from the Bronx. Ryan never even tried to escape. He was caught in Chino as he was caught in his past. He wasn't able to find the exit.

"Okay, then …what do you like more: mountains or ocean?" My elder son starts. He's eager to get to know where Ryan wants to go – he's eager to make Ryan a part of this family. I'm glad he's capable to feel for his friend. I was afraid he might have become one of these cold and self-absorbed Newpsies, but he's still my son.

"Seth, I don't know." Oh, that sounds angry.

"Okay, then I would say for summer vacation we should decide for the ocean. Mountains are good in winter, when you can go skiing and snow boarding. Have you ever seen real snow?"

"Seth, I spend my whole life in California, how was I able to see real snow?" Ryan starts to feel attacked again. I need to light up the atmosphere, before something happens, we all regret later. Hell, how was it able that even the thought of summer vacation was making someone…aggressive. On the other hand this was only one more sign for all the damage that had been inflicted to him.

"Okay, I guess we just shift this topic." I start to get the conversation into another direction.

"Why? Only because Ryan is pissed? I mean it is bad that he never has had the opportunity to leave this state, but that's not our fault. We only try to help him change this. I don't understand how someone can be such an asshole towards his family. That sucks really." Seth says. A few words too much. Ryan gets up and leaves.

"Hey Ryan, your plate is still full." Seth goes on.

"Seth, stop it." I say. We watch Ryan leaving for the pool house.

"What did I say wrong?" Seth asks my wife.

"Nothing…just…I told you that Ryan isn't ready for family issues and you have pushed his buttons." She says. The dinner goes on silently.


	33. Consequences

**_Consequences_**

**L**ater that evening I go to the pool house. I want to talk to Ryan. He needs to know that Seth didn't mean it…or better he needs to know that Seth can't understand his problems concerning family issues. He needs to understand that it is for us as difficult to deal with him not wanting to be part of the family as it is for him us wanting him to be.

"I come with you." My husband says.

"Do you think it's a good idea?" I ask him. I don't want Ryan getting angry only because of some stupid fight and I don't want him to try to run again. It's too dangerous for him – for his leg, for his psyche. He's too fragile.

"We're both his parents and he has to accept it." He's right. He has to accept us as his family. Only then he has a chance to win against his demons. I knock on the door. The blinds are shut and the light in the pool house is off. I carefully step in. He's curled together under the blanket. I switch on the light on the nightstand.

"Hey honey." I touch his shoulder. I didn't insist to terrify him. But he jumps up, eyes wide open and slowly limps away from me.

"Sorry Ryan, I…didn't want to scare you." I tell him. There is so much fear and sadness in his eyes.

"Ryan, can we talk to you?" My husband starts. We don't get a respond. He's standing in a corner of the room, his arms slung around himself. Seeing him like that hurts. He's protecting himself from something, but I can't tell what it is. Pure, naked fear jumps at me, when I look into his eyes. He presses his body tight against the wall, as if he hopes to be able to disappear through it. He's tired and he's hurt. It's obvious but he doesn't want to admit it. I step towards him and reach a hand after him. He flinches violently. He's devastated and I've never seen him that scared.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I want to comfort him but he's shifting away from me. Every step I make closer, is one step back from him. But I manage to get close enough. My arm reaches out to touch his, but pulls it away quickly, before I can reach it. He's so hurt.

"Nothing…just…" He's confused and I can't help him – he doesn't let me.

"Ryan, why don't you go and sit down on the bed. I think it's better for your knee." My husband suggests. Ryan is only standing on one leg and can lose balance every second, but he shakes his head. He's withdrawn in his shell and he doesn't allow us to give him a hand and guide him out of it. We're standing there in silence. My husband moves towards Ryan and tells me with one glance to do so either. Ryan steps back, with every step we make towards him. Thus we force him to limp from one end of the room to another one – until he reaches the bed again. My husband is a smart man.

"Okay Ryan, do you think you can sit down now?" I ask him. He obeys slowly, his arms still holding his midsection. He doesn't look at us. I start a new attempt to get a little closer to him. I sit down next to him, but leave a gap between us. He flinches violently and shifts away from me. I again try to touch his arm, but again he pulls it away.

"Ryan, you need to tell us, what's wrong with you." But I don't receive a response. Nothing. I'm afraid Ryan might have lost it.

"Hey kid…you're scaring us a little right now." My husband steps in and sits down at the other side of the boy. He's closing his eyes. There's no space for escaping left. We're too close that's what he wants to tell us right now, but I'm not giving way now.

"Ryan, no matter what's scaring you, you need to tell us. We're your family now." I start to sooth him, but I can't tell if my words reach him.

"I'm afraid to ask…but…may it be that you don't want to be …part of this family?" My husband carefully asks. But no matter how carefully he asks this question, I don't like the idea of asking it.

"That's…not…true." A very silent whisper tells us. I see tears slowly running down his cheek, over his chin dropping down onto the floor. I want to comfort him, but he doesn't let me. He forced himself to be alone in pain, although he doesn't have to be. He's inflicting more and more pain to himself. It could so easy if he just would allow us to be at least a little his parents.

"What's not true?" I don't get a response. "That you don't want to be part of the family?" I ask on. He only nods.

"But…why are you crying then?" I ask him. He never was crying – at least not, when he was awake or fully conscious.

"Can't." He only whispers. I get a little closer to him and slowly put one arm around him. I want to give him at least a little comfort.

"You can't? Why? There has to be a reason." I go on as carefully as I can, fully aware of that I might push him away with every word said too much.

"This…it's intimidating…I'm afraid of it." He tries to explain to us. I look at my husband and his face looks like I feel.

"What's frightening you?" My husband asks, now rubbing the boy's back. He's flinching again and again and I fear the boy might suffer from a nervous break down.

"Dunno." He only mumbles.

"But if you don't know, you can't change it." I tell him.

"You know a therapist could help you." My husband starts the topic from new.

"Yeah sure, locking me up in a madhouse and drugging me stupid." Shocked about this statement I take him into my arms. I don't care that he wants his physical space.

"No honey, not as long as we have a word in it." I assure him. I never would allow someone drugging him or…admitting him…to the madhouse.

"Talked to the court about it?" He asks. It's incredible. The boy…can't or doesn't want to understand what it meant, when we've signed the adoption papers.

"Just one more time, we adopted you, what means you're our legal son. Now we're making all the unpopular decisions, not a judge." My husband explains him once again and puts an arm around him too. My t-shirt soaks with his warm tears.

"Ryan, we're serious about the adoption, do you want to see the forms?" Why doesn't he believe us?

"Fuck you, not even my own mother or father had wanted me around…why would you?" He now says. He's agitated, but not screaming.

"Because you're parents didn't know what a great kid you are. Listen…your parents…they had been sick …they had too many problems and conflicts with themselves as if they had been able to care for you.…I'm sure they didn't mean it." I try to make him realize that those things that had been said so often to him, never had been really true. I can't imagine any mother that doesn't want her kids, no matter what a burden it is. Sometimes this feeling is only buried under too many other problems.

"That's why my father left me alone a second time and…my…Mum…just watched them kicking my ass or…took their money…or whatever only…for…you know what I'm talking about." I know what he means. I know that his mother had prostituted him. I read it. Hearing it from him, is much harder to take. My heart clenches. I can understand why he believes his parents hadn't wanted him.

"Ryan, this is over now. Now you have us. We care for you and we won't watch anyone hurting you, promised. And when we suggest a therapist, it's only to help you. Right now you're hurting yourself and you'll do as long as you try to bottle up what you can't deal with." My husband says. The tears become more and more.

"Ryan, just give it a try. I promise it'll help you." I tell him.

"And as I told you once, nothing happens if you don't want it to." My husband assures him.

"Does it sound okay to you?" He only nods. I even hold him tighter. "Oh sweetie, everything will be alright again. We're there now and care for you."

"I…d…don't want to hurt you anymore." He whispers. It's as if he never had cried those tears.

"You aren't hurting us. I …might have said some things that weren't alright. But it's normal that there are fights and disputes in a family and then we'll work it out again." My husband explains and rubs the boys back in circles.

"B…But…I…I'm…so screwed up."

"No, you aren't. You're our son now and we love you." I sooth him and slightly rock him. His sobs are silent, but deep. I don't even want to know how long those tears had been bottled up in this boy and I don't want to know how much hurt had caused them. I only want him to be okay again.

"Is okay." I peck him on his hair. If ever someone had hold him that tight and told him that everything was going to be alright? I doubt it. How else was it possible that a boy his age was already that despaired?

I stay with him until he falls asleep. I rub his back, stroke through his hair and he stops flinching. It's late when I go back to the main house.

"Is everything okay now?" My husband asks when I enter the living room.

"Nearly." Now I have to confess to something. Now it's our time to have the conversation.

"What does that mean?" He asks, concern written all over his face.

"We…need to talk about actions and their consequences." I admit.

"What are you talking about?"

"Whirlpool."

~ FIN ~

**A/N.:** Okay, this story is over now. If anyone feels the desire to get to know, what the whirlpool consequences are, how Ryan starts to heal (with set backs) and what an ass******* people can be, just let me know and I think about something. Thanks a lot for reading this story and a very big thank you for the reviews.


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